Firefly Glen The Witching Hour

He was trying to get under her skin. She could see that. How very typical of a wolf descended of Vengeance's blood. Tzila very easily could have let him. Give in and lose her cool, as she so often would in her early days of youth. But she was beyond such things now. She channeled her emotions in a different way. For example, two could play at this game.

Impassive to his mocking, she answered with a voice un-faltering. "I could if I wished. But I have no desire to command such...senseless, chaotic beasts." A corner of her lips curled up. "I am, after all, more tactful than that." Tzila had displayed plenty of savagery in the Nightwalkers. A type that she had complete control over. Abbadon hadn't seen that side of her yet, so she'd leave him to assume. Inching closer, pressing into his personal comfort zone, upright tail swaying like a pendulum, she nipped the outer rim of one of his ears. "The real question is, why don't you take it yourself? It is his creation; you are his blood."