Shadewood Just did a bad thing

He knew he was being followed- all the training he had committed to @Reiner, all of the hard hours and long days, nights, evenings he had devoted to the behemoth to where he near looked as the silent monster tended to. Dark, stalking, but arrogant- but the true question was what came first? The Sergeant or the Assassin?
And what happened if they were one in the same?
What if, by some terrible experiment, some awful concoction of repeated failures, eventual success blended and gave birth to the man who kept his auds forward currently, rather than instinctively following the mostly near imperceptible crinkles of newly weighed down debris behind him? 
What if Minori stalked a man so capable of ignoring his body's natural signals, a man who could leave her body rigid and decaying in a place where mate nor sister could find her? For every victim this man she stalked held no grave marker, and were untraced to this very day-

Yes...Minori brought fang to her Alpha. But as every killer knew, this was no aim to kill. So he allowed this slaver upon his unbristled hide, gave no protest to her as he calmly stopped his gait to turn once she had pulled free, and brought down a devil's twin scythe of ice upon the ivory eye patch wench.

His mind drifted to times where these occurances had come to be, where random assaults had been aimed at him from many who tested his skill, his resolve, his lethality. But he was young then, nowhere near the murderer he is now. He was but a child in that regard then, he mused as his unflinching gaze remained on her delicate face. Slade, Raziel, Reiner...he knew of them, and he eventually had come to best them all. 
It was he who stood here, king of these lands, not them. 

Arrogance threatened to fuel him, to bleed through him as fire would gasoline through veins of coal. But he was calm, collected, and his discipline overruled the fuckery that his testy mind tried him with. And thus the rushwater flooded through, hissing over the molten wrath of sin embedded thick in him. His chin tilted up, and began to rotate his skull clockwise as he unstiffened unused musles-

 

"I need a gansta'
to love me betta'
than all tha other's do-"

He contorted thighs, hocks, forelimbs and rolled his spine to control and release the bloodflow that he knew he would need for this coming slaughter. He relished the oxygen that flowed through him, just as fresh as the sea of artic waters that was his lifeline. Oh, how he needed this, this desire, this inate urge to just ruin.
 

"To always forgive me,
ride or die for me," 

Regaining his stature, he allowed his cape to unfurl, his mane heading the top of the lavish and thick wave of onyx with a strict meld of absolute ebony, a perfect rush of darkness that heralded his name. His acceptance was clear, almost surrender to her demand, but there was no kneeling present in this King of the Keep.

 

 

"Thats just what gangsta's do."

And with light betraying his final place where he stood for her last saving grace through the help of filtered moonlight from the canopy above, the obsidian killer lurged forward with speed that should not have belonged to him, to his age, to his crisp creases of fatherhood. And he belied to the newly mothered woman exactly why the shadows were his home. 

And the only thing she would possibly be capable of making out would be the bright albasters of his trapping jaws across her hide, precisely aimed for her scruff. There was no plans to drag this out- he did not wittle down foes. One shot, one kill. 
His mind played the scene miliseconds before it could have happened- he would yank her free of her security of her fours, and fling her directly into the ground. His mind was too focused on the attack that it hadn't pieced together the possible aftereffects once the slam had been commited- and thus he was unprepared for what would hit him next.