Moonspear and breathe in time [m]

She was bold and he, drawing strength from it, could not resist the urge he held to be close to her. Even if she sank teeth through his flesh, called for blood to spill, Lazarus would laugh and happily spill it. Or so he thought. His brain was a mess of hormones and the after-effects of their union, so it was entirely possible that the pale man was drifting away from his usual behavior, even if only a little. He welcomed her attention whether it was hostile or not — Amekaze was just as tired as he was, perhaps moreso because of the injuries she had sustained through the great hunt — thus, it wasn't as if he expected much repremand.

It wasn't until the arrival of another — the pale boy king in fact — that Lazarus shifted gears. His laughter, deep and slightly menacing, petered out to silence; he looked over Amekaze's head towards the oncoming beast as if to appraise a deer for the hunt. Lazarus had been aware of the pack's absence during the fortuitous hunt whicih left the majority wounded, and perhaps this is what prompted Lazarus to take chances this day. He knew he was in fine form, and that there was a strong chance Charon could not contest him.

Then again, he did not believe the boy capable of much, let alone keep his place upon the throne next to Amekaze. It was his place, by right. She had welcomed him upon the mountain, tempted him, desired him. In Lazarus' mind, he was swiftly becoming the new master of the mountain — and he had claimed her, this dark creature, this beautiful and uncontrollable shadow — she had wanted him, which meant Charon was out of the picture.

Lazarus was stupid, in that way. Thinking this event was anything more than unwelcome violence. Yet as he peered across the expanse to where Charon stood waiting, the beast let a slow grin spread across his rugged features, and then he proudly slipped around Ame, his head high and swagger prominent. The flagging of his tail was enough to tell the boy everything: this is mine, he was saying, and so is she.