Firefly Glen The Witching Hour

It should be easier for you to lead them, don't you think? Being the brains of the bunch after all. He purred in a gruff whisper, welcoming her in his 'personal space' as he pressed forward, closing any gap as he would not be scared away by such tactics. No, he was spurred on by it. Even if he was already fed, he had a ferral hunger, a desire to sink his teeth into her too. The demon could feel his maw stretch behind closed lips, itching to reach out and draw blood. 

At this distance his hot breath should be able to be felt, exhaling softly through her fur and down to her skin (unless she backed away of course). A drunken smile found its way to his mug as his eyes continued to roam her, devour the woman with a new found thirst. He was a glutton after all.

If that is the only reason I have, the competition is thick with his blood. The brute that they called his father was a whore, in his travels Abaddon had met many who either were born in his wake or died in it. Few desired to search him out, but there had to have been others with just as dark of a personality who would relish in the thought of taking over their father's pack with a simple blood tie their excuse. I have no reason to lead, no desire to.