The days had grown dark for the man who had come into his own moment. Long and bewildering, time stretched slowly as the days turned into weeks and months. Immortality and the stink of never dying, and yet ever decaying, is one that Deimos knows well. And in the moment that Heartfire makes herself known to him, his red gaze settles upon her blue eyes, he knows he has seen those eyes before. One cannot live as long as he has without viewing the same eyes more than once. A bristling heat from him causes a small twitch in his upper lip as he settles his weight, looking at her.
That she was not afraid of him did not surprise him. Not many were left who remembered the old days. The blood and the gore and the glory that came with the scent of bathing in the viscera of a defeated enemy. War, and the taking of power, did not exist in this new gentler Beqanna, and those with any sense of the old days were without a purpose—floundering… he ached to kill again. To feel her throat under his hoof as he pushed her into the ground. Would she crack? Would she like it as much he would?
She accuses him; He stands, a dark look of humorous irony settling upon his face. “You mistake lust for intrigue. You know you are beautiful, and you have the power to prove it. I was content to watch. You were content to content to make yourself known to me by demonstrating that power.” His voice is thick, his heavy-lidded gaze heavy as he looks down at her, his wings pulsing their fingers hungrily. “You are not afraid of me, and yet you do not know what manner of man you have stumbled across.”
Then, a hiss.
“You are either very brave, or very foolish. Both I find to be…most appealing”
DEIMOS
cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war…
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