Donovan was lucky.
Derg had just woken up from his early evening nap before his night patrol.
He yawned, and his name carried to him. From the Grandmaster.
He looked out at the dusk sky, soon blotted by the brindle behemoth.

"Grandmaster," he replies smoothly.
Has he come for round two? Probably not. He didn't have that seductive glance about him. What's got him worried? That Hemlocke Derg was still suspicious of? Or was something even graver afoot?

He sat down. Well, that was a bad sign.
Derg sat up, concern etching his face. Had someone died? Was there an army coming? Were they moving?

But something about himself? Did he hate that night? Shit.
But no. No, it was stranger than that.
Derg's brows furrowed. Why would he lie like that?
He just grunted in response, accompanied by a soft, disbelieving, "Fuck."

He watched Donovan -- Kynareth -- for a few moments.
He seemed so fucking pleased with himself.
Derg stood, watching the man levelly.
"So you lied, hm? What'd you rope us all into this pack for?"

He could help but think he looked like little Xizur being told off for biting Tizir too hard.
But his confidence once again brims, which was fine. Just fine.

"Fair enough," he replied. Yeah, Derg understood it. But Derg also didn't give a shit and hide his identity like some pussy. He thought Donovan had some fucking nobility or confidence but no he was just hiding behind a false fucking name.
He didn't let his...misery? Anger? Whatever it was, show.

"I'm glad you founded this with yourself, not on whatever fakery Donovan Azura was."
He stared at Donovan. Was this the start of the end? They'd need to tell the pack, it may be an advantage. To have Donovan with a new name, and the Saints with a new fake name.

He wished he was told sooner.
Not just another pawn in these works.
Did Nemisis know? Did he trust her with his name?
He was a bit pissed, but what could he do? He was in this bitch to survive, not just succumb to the hand he's been dealt.

"I would do it in a much classier way," he replied smoothly.
A smirk hinting at his lips as Donovan tried to make him feel better.
But sex wasn't on his agenda.
Not with Donovan-Kynareth Deagon.

He seemed more interested than one should be about how another would kill them.
A suicidal trait perhaps.
He hummed softly, the smirk deepening to match his smile.
Should he really indulge him so truthfully?

"It would be brutal, my dear." He started off slow, just in case Donovan didn't actually want to hear this. So he had a chance to shut him up.
"I would have to fight you, you wouldn't go easily," Derg almost purred the words into his lover's ears. Was he sadistic?

"Unless I was careful. And I did it when you never expected it. Perhaps a pack meeting," a soft smile, "where everyone will watch."
Was he deranged?

"Or I could wrangle you down onto the ground and do it how you wish. I don't know yet," was he enjoying this too much?
All he could think of was him launching at Donovan and his teeth snapping through the Grandmaster's skull.
He stopped smiling, looking away. He must look fucking crazy. He felt it. His jaw wobbled slightly. What if he'd been killed? That blonde bitch that tore open his poor face.

A half smile.
He shouldn't joke about this. This wasn't something...he should be comfortable with.
And here was Donovan calling it fun.

Bastard.

His lips pursed together again, looking past the man out of the den.
He wanted to leave, but instead, the brindle male lounged before him, so calm.
Derg could kill him right here, he supposed.
No.

"I need to go on patrol," he tried to excuse himself quickly. He wanted to get away sharpish.

He let the passing kiss land, leaning into it softly.
He didn't really want this. Not with Donovan.
He was all lust...he wouldn't have him solely. And he wouldn't get attached.
He just wanted the feeling.

"I will," he replied with a quick smile and slipped away before he could get caught.