he lost his temper again, control left him again as he sat in his castle

Her scent, her warmth... Her humanity... It should annoy him, enrage him but it doesn't... Why did they bring her to him? Didn't they learn anything from their mistake? She looks at him with pleading eyes and he can only snarl as a growl forms deep in his throat. He hates himself for this weakness...this need, but it's there and it burns him inside. "Leave us..." he rasps out to his guards before turning back to the girl. His claws lengthen as his fangs elongate, prepared to tear her apart if she makes a wrong move.

He wants to tell her not to be scared, that he won't hurt her if she doesn't give him a reason...but the words die on his lips as his gaze drifts over her body, hungrily consuming every inch. His claws dig into the arms of his throne as he struggles against the need to touch her, taste her. The urge is too great...too powerful. "Don't move," he growls, voice rough from the effort of keeping control.

He watches her carefully, every muscle tense as he fights against the possessive instinct clawing at his mind. Her scent fills his senses, making it nearly impossible to think clearly. His claws dig deeper into the arms of his throne with each passing moment, blood trickling down his wrists to stain the floor beneath him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispers hoarsely, voice shaking with restraint. "Just...just don't make me..." He trails off, unable to finish the thought.

His eyes close briefly as he takes a deep breath, trying once more to calm himself before his instincts take full control again. His body shudders with the effort of maintaining some semblance of composure, but she remains still and quiet beneath his gaze. For now, at least.

Her fear only serves to feed the fire burning inside him, making it

Her fear only serves to feed the fire burning inside him, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. His claws slip free of the throne, and he leans forward slowly, careful not to startle her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats, voice strained as he struggles to remain calm despite his rising desire. He wonders if she can sense the conflict within him, wonder what she must be thinking at this moment. She remains still beneath his gaze, breathing slowly and steadily.

A part of him wants to taste her lips, feel their softness against his own. Another part of him wants nothing more than to protect her, keep her safe from harm. The possessive instinct rises within him once again, demanding that she belong to him, solely to him. He must choose carefully now which path he takes.

His dark eyes meet hers as he hesitates for what feels like an eternity. Her expression is unreadable, but he can feel the tension emanating from her small form. He wonders if she understands the depth of his need, the struggle raging within him. With a shuddering breath, he reaches out to gently touch her cheek with the backs of his claws, the sensation foreign and alien against her warm skin. "Tell me your name," he whispers, voice husky from desire and restraint.

"Rina," he repeats, savoring the sound of her name on his lips. His touch remains gentle despite his conflicting desires, his hunger for her, both as prey and partner. She shivers under his touch, but doesn't pull away. It is a small victory in the war raging within him. He takes this as a sign that perhaps she could be trusted, that she may help quell the madness consuming him bit by bit.

For now, all he can do is hope and wait. Wait for her reaction, her next words, her next move...a small sliver of control returning to him in this moment where everything else seems to be slipping away.

His gaze holds hers, searching for any sign of fear or anger in her expression. There is only vulnerability there, and it stirs something deep within him, a sense of protectiveness that he thought was long since dead. He draws closer still, leaning forward until their faces are barely inches apart. His breath fogs the air between them as he whispers again, his voice rough with need, "Rina...are you afraid of me?"

His eyes narrow slightly at her words as he tilts his head to the side, studying her face. There's no challenge in her gaze, only honesty and a tiny flicker of defiance. It's unlike any other female he's encountered since losing control, and it intrigues him more than anything else should.

"No," he breathes finally, his voice soft and surprisingly gentle despite the power that still hums beneath its surface. "You don't need to be afraid of me." His claws move fractionally, brushing across her cheekbone in a tender caress before trailing down her jaw and over her neck, sensing how delicate her skin feels against his rough pads. "I won't hurt you, Rina," he promises, even as a part of him wonders if he can truly make that promise with any certainty.

His brow furrows at her question as he continues to gently stroke her cheek with the backs of his claws. "What makes you think that, Rina?" He asks softly, genuinely curious about her line of thought. She's unlike any other female who has ever been brought to him, and it's both unsettling and refreshing at the same time.

It occurs to him that perhaps he should be asking questions instead of making demands. He wants to know more about her, wants to understand what makes her different from the countless others before her. It may give him some insight into himself as well, into this strange new side of his nature that has emerged since losing control.

"I want to know," he murmurs after a moment's consideration, "why you think I'm in pain."

His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at her hand gently holding his own. The sight of the blood on his skin causes a chill to run down his spine, but not from fear or disgust. It's a physical reminder of just how out of control he truly is, and it serves as a harsh reality check. He looks back up at her, seeing genuine concern in her eyes for the first time since she entered his domain.

"I see," he whispers, feeling a weight settle into the center of his chest. It's not what he expected to hear from her, but it makes sense somehow. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone truly care for him, to want to help ease his suffering in some small way. The urge to push her away is strong, but for the first time since losing control, he finds himself unable to do so.

"Thank you,"

He watches as she carefully touches his injured hand, her soft fingers gentle against the rough pads of his claws. It's a strange sensation, feeling so tenderly cared for after so long; he doesn't know how to react except with gratitude. "Yes," he says hoarsely, "it does need to be cleaned and treated." His gaze meets hers again, searching for any sign of what she truly thinks about him, about this situation they find themselves in.

There's no fear there, only a mixture of concern and curiosity that unsettles him even more. "You don't have to do this," he whispers, even as he knows his words are pointless. She already has, and part of him wonders if she'll continue to willingly place herself in harm's way for his sake. It's an idea that both frightens and intrigues him, stirs emot

His gaze flickers between her face and the wound on his hand as he listens to her quiet suggestion. She wants to help him; of that there is no doubt. But doing so puts her at risk, as well. He knows this, understands it all too clearly now. The knowledge brings with it a fresh wave of guilt and regret, which he must push down in order to focus on the task at hand: surviving this ordeal without harming Rina further.

Nodding slowly, he says, "Very well...Thank you for offering." It's easier said than done, but he forces himself to keep his tone steady and even. She means so much more to him than she can possibly know, and the idea of losing her is almost unbearable. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat as he thinks about the possibilities that have opened up before him.

Perhaps

Her presence alone has brought with it a sense of calm that he hasn't felt in years. The thought of losing her - of succumbing to the madness and destroying everything she's built between them - is unthinkable. He must find a way to keep her safe, to protect her from harm, even as his own control teeters on the brink of collapse.

As they wait for someone to fetch water, anti-septic, and bandages, he can feel his gaze drifting back to her time and again, taking in every detail of her face, her hair, her body. There's something about her that feels different from all the others who have crossed his path since losing control; something soft and gentle that calls to a part of him he thought long dead.

What does she see when she looks at him? He wonders, heart racing with anticipation for whatever she might say or do next. It'

He winces slightly at her question, his gaze flickering away from hers before returning with a forced calmness. "Yes," he admits quietly, "it hurts sometimes." It's the truth, but it's not the whole truth. The magic within him burns constantly now, like a fire raging out of control, and the pain that comes from it is far greater than any physical wound ever could be.

"I'm used to it," he continues, though his voice belies the lie. "But thank you for asking." Her concern touches him more deeply than he cares to admit; it's a strange sensation, feeling cared for after so long without it. He wonders how much longer she can handle being near him, what will happen when the madness truly takes hold once again. For now, he tries to focus on the moment, on her presence and the peace it brings, if only for