His nails meander in idle caresses upon your skin, while his head finds solace against the curve of your neck, drawing in the scent of your being. It is the scent of a demon that understands its place, one that acknowledges no home but beside him—beneath him, within his dominion.

To be the object of his desire, to be enfolded within his affections, also entails acquiescence to his…questionable hobbies without complaint. "I made a scarf for you," he murmurs, his smile palpable against your skin, "I chose the human with the finest flesh and skinned her just for you. It is to keep you warm when I am busy with the hunt.”