Silver Creek the world-eater wakes

the women here were so obliging. whatever cult it was that grayson and his ilk had devised, iliksis marveled that it had not been invented sooner. there was something sickeningly satisfying about looking another wolf in the eye - a wolf that should be equal -- and knowing they simpered and sniveled beneath you.

he could get used to this. monster that he was, his appetite would only grow if the women were to stroke his fancies the same way they carefully stroked their master's egos. in time he would see to it that they did -- but for now iliksis looked every bit a sunning basilisk. fat... content... and enormously dangerous.

his gaze lingered on oryx a little longer, even as faeryn spoke. he liked her obeisance; he wondered if she would be easy to mold, easy to break. he even wondered some other abject and horrifying thing, but his attention stole to faeryn next, as she had finished speaking. he did not catch the feigned politeness of her tongue, nor the flitting look of discomfort, for once again his eyes were lingering -- favoring the sharp, jutting angle of oryx's hips.

"iliksis," he returned, his voice somehow carrying less warmth than the air that chilled them. "i saw you on the beach once." his comment might have seemed idle, but it carried with it an insinuation: what are you doing here?