Iktome Plains And when the crimson moon comes up, he drinks the blood of slaves

He does not remember every wolf he killed. Their faces seemed to blend together, especially if the circumstances were similar. Male, female, Arctic wolves, Mackenzie wolves, he saw no difference between them when he remembered. He remembered those he seduced, those he cornered, those he ambushed in a strange amalgamation of wolf faces and bodies. There were a few that stood out, notable in their last moments. Those that fought, and fought hard. The ones who had nearly slipped from his grasp, only to be pulled back under. Those who accepted, and even enjoyed their deaths. 

But there was nothing that compared to this.

Taking life was one thing. But controlling life? That brought another high in of itself. To bend another wolf to your will, to control their movements, their words, their thoughts? Not even the taste of blood could match to that. No, this boy, his baietel, would not die. Not as long as they were bonded, and Athan had use for him. And he could think of so many uses.

A curious thought came to his head, his brain giddy with lust and adrenaline. He pondered it for a moment, but as his mind came to accept it, a smile crossed his face. I want you to refer to me as Tăti, ok? He cocked his head, trying to seem more innocent, but only perverting the mere notion of innocence with his look.

*coughs*