The Beast and Dragon, Adored [Jericho/Open]

[♥ Nathan ♥]

[ Hurrrr BOSTON OPEN FUNTIMES THREAD. Feel free to hop in once Nate and Jericho get where ever they're going. COME PLAY PLZ. ]

---

Nathan has decided, in the span of three short days, that he hates Boston.

He is unused to being out of his element; he is unused to feeling so unsettled. It is not the first time the werewolf has been uprooted, but it is certainly the most drastic – Chicago to Vegas, as a youth, was an identifiable upgrade. But Boston… It is cold. Wet. It smells different; the people are strange. The modern neon glow of the strip, the raucous Las Vegas nightlife Nate had understood implicitly, has been replaced with a choking industrial city of brick and stone – and he can’t even find a decent bar. The vices and methods Nathan would fall upon to indulge himself, to soothe his nerves and slake his beast’s appetite, continue to elude him. As the days drag by, Nathan feels ragged.

Between its long hours and stringent requirements, work becomes a suitable distraction; the job is well within his means, but a new company – a new city – means an entirely unknown set of rules and conditions Nathan has to ingest and memorize. His staunch professionalism and natural skill may see him successfully through each day, may let him continue to appear as the collected, capable executive, but the evenings find him raw and uneasy. He is a foreigner, a stranger, out of place in both pack and territory, and Nate cannot abide feeling so uncertain of himself and his standing. That he has occasionally been the subject of suspicious stares in the halls of his workplace does not help his stress; it sets his animal pacing.

Every conversation is a dominance game, and the wolf in his skull has been an undeniable and invasive presence on his thoughts. While Nathan is practiced enough to deny it, the drip feed of violent, crimson imagery does little to help him, and both he and the animal are primed for a fight. It is a coping mechanism he is missing in this new home, and when Friday at last rolls through, Nathan can feel the animal’s need for release – and his own desire to work off this pressure – bleeding his composure dry. As the sun sets through the tall windows of the werewolf’s small and pathetically empty apartment, Nate lights a cigarette with an aggravated scowl, and sulks.

He is hungry – he is bored – and Boston is a hellhole he can’t escape.

The decision comes easily, passed off as a logical step to satisfying the cries of his animal and alleviating his tedium both – to ingratiating himself with the locals, to learning Boston. It has nothing to do with his lurking and largely unacknowledged suspicion, the idea that Nathan may have accepted a pay raise and a career move with the ulterior motive of being closer to Jericho. That speaks too much of addiction, obsession, and a loss of control – and so Nate does not entertain such thoughts as he showers and dresses. White shirt, black slacks, a matching vest – the werewolf wastes too much time fixing his hair, and at last heads for the street.

Nathan catches a car across town and tells himself he only knows where Jericho lives because it is, in a way, related to his job. Self-delusions, after so many years, come naturally. Outside the esquire’s apartments, Nate snags the door as a young woman with a severe haircut opens it, holding it for her with a charming grin. She does not seem particularly taken in by his smooth expression or attempt at chivalry and simply shoots him a smoldering glare for his efforts – but earning the smile of a stranger was never his goal. Nathan slips into the building behind her, and after a quick glance at the registry, ascends the elevator to the top floor. He pauses only to give himself a final once-over before knocking.

When the door is opened, Nathan will meet the other man’s eyes with all the arrogant air of an individual who is both expected and awaited – as though there is nothing unusual about his showing up at Jericho’s apartment. ”You,” the werewolf accuses, the slight incline to his hard jaw revealing his frustration. ”Your city is horrible.” As though it were Jericho’s fault – and perhaps, being its self–proclaimed prince, it is. Nathan’s mouth is a thin, unamused line, and his stare is piercing; there is a feral edge to his normally casual demeanor, a subtle manifestation of the wolf scratching beneath his skin.

”You’re taking me out.”

Jericho has debts to repay, after all, and this is a suitable way to start.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

Boston is his city – his home. It is here, in a place of familiarity, that Jericho should be at his most comfortable – but ever since the wolf infected his blood, there has been no true peace. A measure of discontent circles beneath his nerves, subtly wearing them down until the beast’s presence is impossible to ignore. Where Boston should be a sanctuary, it only serves to embolden Jericho’s animal. This is his territory, this is his kingdom – and like a selfish monarch, the beast wants only to hoard and to take, and to force servitude from all of its supposed denizens.

He has been abrasive as of late. He has terminated two fine employees from his service for miniscule and possibly imagined altercations. Jericho’s carefully manufactured mask of charm has fractured, chipped, and has began to slip. Stress from the job can only be fractionally to blame; he is working a particularly difficult case with a particularly oafish client. Work means less time to play, and less time to play means less chances to feed his wolf. It grows in presence with each passing day until Jericho’s thoughts are painted red, and even the most unappealing of people start to look like acceptable prey.

If he was given to honest self-analysis (as opposed to abject denial), Jericho might realize that the ferocity of his wolf’s demands flared upon Nathantiel Hart’s arrival in Boston. Their reverie in Las Vegas was a brilliant, reckless show but Jericho does not expect , nor does he chase after, an encore. Boston is home. Boston is family and the family business. Nathan is here to fill an important gap in the mainframe and the rumors regarding why such a young man landed a prestigious job are already circulating. The wedding and more succinctly, what happened at the wedding, is still fresh in many individual’s minds. Away from Boston and behind relatively closed doors, Jericho wears the title of player and whore with a cheeky indifference. But here, where respect means power, his reputation matters.

Jericho would never admit to doing something so sophomoric as avoiding Nathan, but it remains that the men have traded few words since the werewolf’s arrival in the city. Work has kept Jericho busy and this is no lie, but he has never before been so keen to put so many back-to-back hours under his belt. This obsessive diligence to a case he really has no desire for, has seen him burnt out to an extreme. Jericho leaves his office to take his casework back to the loft. He tells himself that he will continue to work but only ends up nursing a bottle of whiskey in a frustrated attempt to stifle the incessant howling of his wolf.

A knock at the door sees the esquire throwing a look towards the ruckus. He contemplates not answering but there is the distinct chance that it might be important – and there is no denying the way his wolf has stuttered to a quiet attentiveness. The door opens and Jericho cannot disguise his surprise quick enough – his gaze noticeably widens before he schools his expression into a nonchalant mask. He leans casually against the doorframe smelling sweetly of alcohol, and runs his eyes over Nathan. ”I know there’s not a whore on every corner – but it’s not that bad,” he delivers back while wearing a sharp smirk.

Contemplativeness takes over his features and Jericho considers that it would be wisest to turn Nathan away. Rumors are like roaches; nearly impossible to kill and there is little practicality in feeding them. Green eyes meet blue and Jericho feels a flush of heat spread over his neck. His beast is focused, intent, and it allows him a clarity of mind he has not obtained in two week’s time. ”I could use the break,” he admits in a smooth drawl. Nathan is not invited in but asked to wait as Jericho slips into something a little less disheveled. He returns in a casual black suit with a red shirt, and appears ready for a night out.

”You’re hungry,” he accuses primly as they ride the elevator to the ground floor. ”I’ll show you my favorite hunting grounds.” Jericho offers a helpful smile and resigns himself to playing the part of guide and host. This will be easier –and less prone to spinning the rumor mill—if he takes the practical edge of acclimating a new member to the city. Yet another comfortable lie.

The taxi ride is all of twenty minutes, and it is a cruel twenty minutes in which Jericho forcefully fills with small talk. He is expert at appearing suave and engaged when effectively giving someone the cold shoulder. The car rolls to a stop, Jericho pays the driver, and steps out onto the curb. Before them is a posh looking establishment with a bright sign in delicate script reading Blacksheep. A long line feeds out near the door and down the sidewalk as people wait for their chance to get in. Jericho throws Nathan a look and motions towards the bouncer with the nod of his head. Together the men approach the door and the moment Jericho is recognized, the guard steps aside and allows them entrance.

Inside is a modern affair – a club meant for the fat-pocketed and their favored sycophants. It smells of luxury and, most tellingly, it reeks of wolves. Jericho immediately takes to the bar and orders hard liquor. As the barman sets about fulfilling his order, Jericho throws a look around the establishment. There are a number of familiar faces and familiar bodies. The club may wear the guise of an upper class establishment, but Jericho knows it for what it is – a denning ground for wolves looking to feed.

He sips idly from his drink and glances at Nathan curiously. Jericho cannot fight the coyness that seeps into his eyes and he says, with a falsely innocent smile, ”See anything you like?” It is a statement that harkens back to their last encounter in Vegas. Jericho knows he is baiting and pushing, and he knows it is not wise, but when it comes to Nathan--

He can never make wise decisions.

[Raining]

She was dressed in her best.

Well no sorry, but in one of her favorite dresses. She has no juicy parts, but she does have a tiny waist, curves nicely – so the black sash tied around her accented that perfectly. All in all she looked like a rosy-haired porcelain doll, although her soft green eyes stand out marvellously. She wasn’t very tall, only standing about five two so this girl felt the need to wear nice high foot breakers to help her fit in a bit. Her rose-blond hair fell in waves, framing her face, sitting mid back.

She looked hopelessly defenceless standing in line with the rest of them, sensing hope, excitement and most importantly desire. What else she sensed was the reason she decided to come to this establishment, they were all over this city. Of course it seemed they served her favorite drink here as well, too bad a good drink had to be in the form of low beings… so greedy and undesirable. What she was craving was something more, new… and interesting.

Smiling as she reached the door man, she handed him her ID since he looked at her warily, and untrusting. It was a good thing she died at the age of twenty three, otherwise she would eternally look and be underage. Hesitantly he let her pass, she looked harmless after all. She tossed him a sweet smile, and strode in, almost immediately taken aback. This establishment was… everything she hoped for. The aroma of animal surrounded her, sparking excitement through her and an unquenchable curiosity.

Although the deceivers need not fear from her tonight, she had her fill. Sating those nasty little cravings of hers so she did not need to tear everyone up in a silly little blood craze. It still astounded her that after all this time... it was still there, bubbling beneath her still very human like demeanor.

Rebekah confidently sauntered to the barman and ordered her drink. It was too bad Vampirism wasn't entirely accepted everywhere... it would be much nicer if they had humans on tap -- but cruelty and all. Humans still ruled, tsk tsk.

The barman finally handed over her martini, she accepted it and was pleased to see a lemon twist instead of olive.

Twisting around to face the 'crowd' she let her eyes roam freely, intense -- almost in a predatory manner.

Who will show the new girl in Boston a good time?

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Nathan is pulling on a cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping him sane by the time Jericho reemerges; there is a lurking miasma of tension and aggravation about him, one that has only worsened since his arrival. The esquire is playing games so soon – and has been, intentionally or not, since the moment Nathan arrived in Boston. Since the moment Nathan was summoned. There are no obligations between them, no requirements, and while Nate had played his part in staunchly ignoring any lingering threads of desire, now that he has given in – now that Jericho Malik is in the flesh before him – he remembers.

He supposes he should be thankful that Jericho has not shut him out, has not made him beg; with his wolf baying like a half-starved hound, Nathan is fairly certain he would have given in to its predilections.

”I’d like to not bite the heads off my new staff,” he replies stiffly, and the cold look he shoots the esquire suggests anything but. Where Boston is foreign, Jericho is familiar, someone who understands how the animal must be fed; and Nathan is capable enough to blame his irritation on stress and disorder alone. The wolf thrives on stability, on consistency. Without it, the man is left unhinged, as close as he has come to unraveling. Jericho is his only lifeline, his sole method of getting a handle on himself, on Boston – and so Nathan willingly submits to that dependence, so long as he can convince himself of its greater purpose.

In this new world of power games and ego he is at a distinct disadvantage, but as they take to the car and fill the minutes up with banal gossip, Nathan cannot help but relax. Good ideas like going out may seem less sensible in the face of Jericho’s vexing arrogance, but the esquire serves as a means of grounding him; the rules of their game are familiar, known, and perhaps the only thing in this city that make sense. The executive settles to their idle chatter with a matched façade of indifference – and by the time they arrive at the club, he has taken to his old role comfortably. Jericho’s show of influence at the door is met with only a cocksure smirk, a feeling that he deserves this. Nate is not one to dismiss the perks of Jericho’s company – he simply assumes them as his own.

Once inside, Nathan is quick to take to the bar, where he is pleased to find the quality of alcohol fitting for the club’s decadent trappings. He rests with an unimpressed and nonchalant air at Jericho’s side – thankful to have something to occupy his unquiet hands – and idly swirls the amber liquid inside its tumbler as he takes to watching the floor. Hunting is not a favored role of his, not in the least with suitable game within arm’s reach, but there are fronts to maintain and an animal to appease. This dance between Nathan and Jericho is never one of overt admission, not at the start; and Boston brings with it its own set of regulations, of relearning where they each stand.

”You know the answer to that,” the werewolf murmurs around the rim of his glass, his smirk half hidden by bourbon – but his eyes never leave the bodies before them. It is easier to feign control with a goal in sight, but it makes the caged animal markedly more dangerous; that it is patient does not mean it does not hunger. ”Otherwise, no.” A compliment, one that comes easily. Nathan suspects that attempting to take their relationship past its inglorious start may prove impossible; a piece of him even admits that was likely his intent. They are not a pair built for casual camaraderie, but that doesn’t mean Nate won’t try – or simply pretend to.

He summons the bartender towards him with a flick of his fingers, nodding towards a small, slim woman in an elegant white dress. She is a victim at random, a subject of fate and chance, and Nathan secures a refill for her martini when she has finished it. The barman, true to form, will offer Rebekah a second drink as she empties her first; should she question its origins, he will gesture towards Nathan, who has already disengaged from the encounter. The werewolf is turned towards Jericho like there is no one else in the room – and in Nathan’s mind, perhaps that is close to the truth.

”This is what you do, then?” There is a playful set to Nate’s features, to the smirk that has made a comfortable home of his lips. ”Come here, drink – find prey?” It is not exactly a method the werewolf is unfamiliar with, but when it comes to Jericho, Nate has high standards – and he is goading the other man intentionally. ”I liked our club better.” Not simply because it had been in Vegas. He lets that implication sit, and turns back to the crowd with a smug smile and a slow draw of liquor.

Boston may have potential, but it has yet to prove itself – and Nathan will worry at it until it does.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

”Look harder,” Jericho says behind the rim of his glass. ”Or go hungry.” His eyes follow the sway of bodies on the dance floor; he can smell their sweat, taste the hormones on his tongue. No matter how dressed up the club may be, and no matter how far humanity has evolved – the entire affair is nothing more than an elaborate courtship ritual. Drawn-out foreplay hidden behind conversation and dance; the first act in a play that ends with an obvious conclusion and a literal climax. Wolves and humans are not so different, but Jericho finds wolves far more willing to give into their nature, than pretend they are above it.

There are familiar faces in the crowd, and more grippingly, familiar scents. If asked, Jericho could put a name to perhaps one or two past engagements – so little did they matter to the pretentious Malik son. Nathaniel Hart’s name, despite the brief nature of their encounter, never once left Jericho’s memory. It is an anomaly in his modus operandi to dedicate an inkling of thought to anyone save himself – and it is an anomaly Jericho will not own up to. Nathan is here to perform a job which, due to their sordid history, should make the werewolf distinctly off-limits. He will show the new head of security where to feed his wolf and where to occupy himself when he has the time and the desire. He will be the good son. He will give Nikolai no reason to doubt the decision to bring Nathan to Boston.

The esquire affects a bored look as he watches Nathan’s exchange with the bartender. His attention is on the path of the newly made drink and when it makes its way to the woman dressed in white, he immediately tries to find fault with her. To his hidden dismay, Jericho sees only an attractive rose-haired woman with delicate curves, and carrying what can be described as an air of mystery. A fine choice, he admits, but makes no attempt to voice as much. ”This is what I do,” the drawl is lazy but eloquent, and is followed with a quick upturn of his lips. ”When bored, hungry werewolves demand I take them out.” Jericho’s eyes find Nathan’s and he allows the other man’s insinuation to fill the silence between them.

The implication garners enough memory to see a flush creeping over the nape of his neck. Jericho flashes a tight smile before draining the rest of his drink – and ordering a second. ”If you want to find someone to trade blows with – I am sure there is someone around here willing to oblige.” There is a dry quality to his words, a thread of humor hidden beneath layers of sarcasm. The club in Vegas was a perfect demonstration of how diverse the methods of control werewolves fall to are, but Jericho prefers decadence over all else – as much as he enjoyed watching Nathan duke it out in the ring. ”I believe some of the boys run a…boxing thing out of a gym. You can check it out. Make nice and make friends.” His helpful smile is a noticeably sharp and his tone more than a little baiting.

At any moment Jericho runs hot or cold. He gives ground only to take it away in the next second. This may be seen as a game, but it is one of control—not indulgence— and he is frustrated. His attention shifts back to the woman in white and though there is a sting in his chest, Jericho turns to look Nathan in the eye. ”You should talk to her – or has the change in venue made you shy?” Challenge runs brittle with perhaps too much heat in his gaze, but Jericho dispels it away with a smooth smirk.

Jericho will play the able host to his city. This is his goal, or it should be, but his interest in what Nathan will do is too keen to be practical or innocent.

[Raining]

Patience.

It was a game she learned over time, a couple of centuries of time. So here she was looking delicate as a flower waiting for someone to come to her. It was fun at times playing the bait, hopeless men the ones too proud to go after some dirty harlot. These men believe a women like her would fall for their charm, but no. Oh no, she has learned her lesson and unfortunately that one lesson has turned her around completely. Being what she is, a higher being of course, falling for anyone human, vampire or other such supernatural only ends in pain, blood... and anger. Over time, someone who has learned her lesson will 'shut down' those lowly human feelings of love, and tenderness.

As she watched the crowd with fair amount of interest, she sipped her drink until all that remained was the sour, sweet lemon twist at the bottom of her glass. Some of the guests, while they sipped on their drinks (some more than others) seemed to be playing her game. Watching with predatory eyes with their good friend hunger watching just below the surface. She knew that friend very well, while hers was sated for now -- there were some who were currently hunting. She wouldn't normally see this, but there were one or two people here that weren't entirely hiding.

Was this a hunting ground?

As she pondered, she turned to find the bar tender with another drink. She allowed a look of surprise to slip in place, as she took her gift. She asked who this was from, and her gaze was guided to a handsome blue eye'd treat. Mmm he looked scrumptious, but she would not approach him yet, she wasn't desperate for attention - and she liked this game. An inviting smile would be tossed at the two men, Nathan in particular -- if they caught her gaze.

This part of the game was a gamble. If he decides to take her bait and approach her, then she would win the gamble. If not, and he did appear preoccupied with the charming gentleman he mingled with, she would have to make the approach. It was a slight kink in her pride, but it would only enter her in another game.

-- If Nathan did not approach, after a few minutes she would play into his hand and go to him, drink in hand.

Gliding over, she would come to Nathan's side. She would apologetically smile over at Jericho (if still there) and draw her gaze back to Nathan.

"I believe, I have you to thank for this?" she purred as she offered her hand, "I'm Rebekah."

[♥ Nathan ♥]

The fault in the woman lies in the fact that she is not Jericho. It is more than damning.

”And here I thought this was your favorite hunting ground.” The mirth in Nathan’s eyes, in his tone, is laced with a venomous sarcasm. A server leaves with the woman’s drink; the werewolf does not bother to track him. ”Or is it free for the taking?” Nathan draws his stare towards the other man, his face a mask of false curiosity. His urge to touch – to emphasize his words with the slow caress of gentle fingers – is resisted and disguised as a sigh. ”I’m sure I could be just as influential.” There is no true challenge heating the casual timbre of his voice, but being dismissive of Jericho’s supposed conquests, his territory, grants Nathan some measure of power. Feigned indifference is not a foreign concept to either man.

”That’s an idea,” he laughs, shifting his weight as he chances another glance towards the crowd. ”Though I’d love to hear your excuse for coming to watch.” The woman has received her drink, and Nathan allows their eyes to catch when she smiles; he simply regards her with a gentle inclination of his head before drawing his gaze back to Jericho. The bite of alcohol and the familiar scents of a den of wolves have served to restore him, a reassurance dovetailed with his desire to appear controlled before the esquire. He dares not remain so apparently unwound. ”You seemed to enjoy it, last time.” The accompanying smirk is anything but innocent, and Nate’s gaze lingers on the melting ice in his drink. ”Maybe you should give it a shot.” Blue eyes flick up to green, coy and taunting, and break away in the same instant.

Truth be told, Nathan is far more fond of trading blows with Jericho himself.

”You know that’s not how this game works,” he murmurs – and Nathan does not fail to catch the slow approach of the ensnared woman. ”They have to come to you.” His smile grows smug with the weight of his allusions. Jericho or the girl, the reference is one and the same, and he is being deliberately vague. In failing to rise to the man’s bait he poses another challenge entirely; Nathan denies him, and dares to pretend that his interest is occupied elsewhere, brazenly suggests there are superior options laid before him. In this case, options present in a small and delicate woman robed in white.

”Nathaniel,” is the smooth reply. He gives only what he gets, but accepts her offered hand; his lips brush over the back of her fingers chastely before he releases her. ”Jericho, my colleague,” Nate adds with a nod towards his companion – lest he be mistaken for rude. ”There’s no need to thank me, so long as you forgive the trite signals. I hope the drink is satisfactory?” The tone he affects his professional and polite; he is practiced at playing the role of charmer, and none of his otherwise lax manner or crudeness slips through. The werewolf’s smile, however, is predatory.

It is perhaps unkind to let her serve as the bait in a battle between two animals, but Nathan shows no signs of backing down; he is curious as to where this path ends, and will not allow Jericho to pin him to the wall. In truth, Nate is thankful the woman had deigned to approach him – it serves his purpose, for one, and saves him the trouble of simulating enough interest to track her down. The wolf behind his eyes is both ravenous and torn; there is a vague, blossoming interest in the girl – it is a vain, fickle thing, and easily baited – but the animal knows where true satisfaction lies. The desperation with which it pines for Jericho is a force he is almost afraid to resist.

Almost.

”Tell me, Rebekah,” Nathan begins, all good humor and casual charisma – an immaculate act. ”Do you like to dance?” He places his emptied glass on the bar behind him, and fixes the woman with a falsely kind smile. Jericho has dealt this hand himself, and must now reap the consequences; and Nathan sees no greater way to push his luck than to feel Rebekah sway beneath his hands.

It is not what he wants, but if Jericho will not give it to him, then Nathan will find a way to take. Consider it a lesson learned.

[♔ Jericho ♔]

Jericho feigns an eye roll but only ends up sporting a reluctant smile. ”And chance damaging this face? I think not.” It stands that Jericho, in his human guise, is a lover and not a fighter. He will leave the boxing to Nathan and should it fall to it, he will manufacture excuses to come watch. His smile runs taut and his lips find his glass. The splash of whiskey is rich on his tongue and Jericho relents with a small, feckless shrug. ”Point, but I’m thinking a woman that looks like that is used to being pursued.” The compliment runs sour in his mouth but Jericho maintains his nonchalant, handsome mask. He refuses to fall to the grumbling of his beast – he refuses to let his budding envy show. Here, in Boston, the concept of responsibility actually holds weight. Las Vegas is nothing more than a bittersweet dream--

and as the woman approaches, the dream runs more bitter than sweet.

”Charmed,” he greets blithely and raises his glass to the rose-haired vampire. His eyes drift over her in a show of manufactured approval, and had he been here alone – Jericho’s interest in Rebekah may have been honest; but Nathan serves as a stopper to the appetite of the esquire’s wolf. Why seek out small morsels when there is a meal of substance within arm’s reach. Green eyes toss a hooded look in Nathan’s direction, and the responding flare of frustration within his chest threatens to ruin his night. Within arm’s reach, yes, but locked behind a self-imposed wall. What grates at his nerves the most is not abstinence, but the knowledge that Nathan has a measure of power over him. Jericho is relegated into a state of starvation whilst Nathan is free to play and to coax – and to tease. ”Oh you should,” he chimes in at the notion of hitting the dance floor. ”Believe me when I say – Nathaniel knows how to move.” The corners of his mouth curl into a smirk. Nathan is baiting him and Jericho will feign ignorance. He is nothing more than the werewolf’s wingman and has no vested interest in what transpires between Nathan and Rebekah – or so he pretends.

He is only digging his own grave deeper.

His attention shoots back to the woman in question and his eyes take on a keen, clever appeal. Jericho easily reads into the way his wolf responds to the woman – as if it is in the presence of a competing predator. She is no wolf – he has surreptitiously tested the air—and she is certainly no human. ”Careful,” he muses with a knowing smile while looking Rebekah directly in the eye, ”I think this one has more bite than most would assume.” Jericho turns to face Nathan and when he next speaks, there is the smallest hint of bitter accusation. ”But I suppose that’s right up your alley, isn’t it?” His smile turns sharp and he takes to his drink for sanctuary. Jericho pretends the burn in his gut has everything to do with the whiskey and nothing with Nathan’s antics.

Should the pair decide to grace the dance floor, Jericho will watch and the burn will grow. The discontent of his wolf bleeds to violence, to a red-hued haze of primal thoughts of envy and vengeance. He will watch until the frustration grows to be too much – and then there will be an empty, unoccupied seat at the bar with Jericho nowhere to be found.

[Raining]

(what is this?)

It would seem her pride would take a slight hit after all.
Ah well, it wasn't the first time she played with the prideful or stubborn.But this situation felt...different -- after all she was in the wolves den. Or whichever animal stirred under the surface, some obvious, other hiding it behind drinks or charming smiles.

The music in the background seemed to cover up whatever they were talking about as she strode over -- to her dismay.

When Nathan kissed the back of her fingers, she felt like she was back in the 1800's. Men were gentlemen then, it was rare to find one that still humored tradition. Or maybe she was just missing her own time period, it was a time of elegance. Where a lady was treated like a lady, and she certainly was one. Although this one had its thorns.

"My, my handsome and a gentleman." she mused lifting her glass to Jericho as he was introduced, "A pleasure, Jericho.". There was a thickness to the air around these men, or maybe it was just the atmosphere of this place. Either way a small smile would play on her lips as Nathan spoke, eyes would be on him, and him only. But she was quite aware of Jericho, his presence was... dominating to put in words.

"You are forgiven," she would say, " and yes thank you, a fine choice, her tone was lightly playful but she would remain polite, lady-like with a touch of innocent flirting. Social foreplay was one of her favorites, she enjoyed to get to know, and watch for signals... anything to break the mask -- if one existed. Her interest in him, would only go as far as he was still interested in her. If he were human, and she was desperate she would have no problem alluring him further.

Nathaniel was tonights challenge, and her reason for coming here. Nothing diabolical, just plain curiosity.

Jericho chimes in when Nathan poses his question, she giggled before finishing the rest of her drink. "I do like to dance and I would love to see your 'moves', your companion speaks of."

Her gaze shifts from Nathaniel to Jericho, and the corners of her lips lift with his... words of caution. Very perceptive of him, it would seem they could sense she wasn't human. For a vampire to tell a human from a non-human was natural, for humans were their natural prey -- apparently the same could be said for others?

"Mm i'm harmless." she quipped, as her gaze slid back to Nathan. Did he sense it as well? Or would Jericho's observation cause him to focus?

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Human, nonhuman, Nathan is both uninterested and uncaring; his curiosity in the woman is fleeting at best and feigned at worst. He plays innocent throughout the exchange, seemingly ignorant to the subtlety lacing their conversation, but the werewolf understands. Another night, and Jericho might be proved correct – he might have enjoyed explore just how much bite Rebekah had – but this evening does not revolve around her, lest she somehow prove amusing. She is a tool, a pawn in a game she is yet unaware of; she may be a pretty one, may be deserving of better, but Nathan has his priorities. Either he will see where Jericho’s pride has gotten them, or he will reluctantly settle for second best.

The wolf will be fed in either case.

”Wonderful,” Nathan drawls smoothly, his smile dark and crooked across his features. ”I’d love to show you.” Though he no longer has eyes for the esquire, his focus cannot slide anywhere else – his attention is for Jericho’s emotions and responses alone, for the shifting in the air that reveals the caged wolf behind the man. Seemingly satisfied, Nathan wets his lips and takes Rebekah’s hand in his, and the two take to the dance floor together.

The music is a hard, deafening baseline, and to Nate’s keen nose, the open air stinks of sweat and hormones. The vampire is a blessed distraction, a disruption from the wolf’s damnable howling and Jericho’s games; Nathan’s hands find Rebekah’s hips, and he pulls her close. It is easy to lose himself to the sway of bodies, to the pervasive rhythm that fills the club, and for a brief moment even the beast stands entranced. The shock of contact and the scent of wolf has his skin running electric; Nathan slides his face teasingly near to the woman’s neck, his breath warm beside her ear.

”You dance beautifully.” The compliment is honest, if hollow at its core. Nathan’s lips ghost along Rebekah’s jaw, and his smile is far from innocent. Caught up in the moment, Nathan can believe – can convince himself – that he would give in to this weakness; that his addictions and obsessions are both paltry and tamable. That Jericho is the fling he was always meant to be, and nothing more. Nathan inclines his head gently, and in a forward move, makes to capture Rebekah’s lips with his own—

and draws up short. Searching blue eyes, seeking to make a point, have found that the object of his manipulations has disappeared from his perch. That Jericho would have left should not come as a surprise, and yet Nathan has the gall to find himself hurt and shaken; the werewolf has never been very good at forethought regarding immediate gratification, and Jericho has a habit of rendering even that modicum of coherence impossible. Though Nathan had entertained the possibility of failing to earn the esquire’s interest – and so settle for Rebekah instead – his shock makes that lie known. He had never truly believed.

The wolf, having settled at the promise of a successful hunt, again rises to the forefront of Nathan’s mind. Jericho is not his, but the animal knows only an existence of territory and possession – and something in its world is out of place, something has been taken from it. It is incensed; the pressure of its presence increases tenfold in a reckless bid for control.

Nathan freezes against the vampire, and his hold at her hips turns tight. ”Excuse me—“ He falters, looking for excuses – and finds none. Nate pulls away with a strained look, breaking eye contact. ”Ah, just – just give me a moment.” The cool mask of the cultivated gentleman is fraying around the edges, and what lies beneath is more wolf than man. To Nathan’s own surprise and horror, he finds himself disengaging instead of leaping on the obvious opportunity to feed the animal; the man leaves Rebekah to her own devices on the dance floor, and will not notice if she follows as he makes for the bar.

When an inquiry put to the bartender leaves him with no answers regarding Jericho’s disappearance, Nathan turns towards the entrance. The animal is surging through his blood and screaming in his skull, and the club’s lullaby of feral scents and sounds has turned into the beat of a war drum – and Nathan has to get out.

[Raining]

She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, already swaying with the beat. He could dance well, and she was wanting more, her lust for both sex and blood was rising to the surface. Luckily the alcohol dims the blood lust slightly, and she was old enough to be able to control her cravings. Rebekah just went with the flow, her eyes only for Nathaniel at the moment, and the music that was pushing them closer.

As soon as he touched her, she could sense him -- it excited her to think that something lurked just beneath the surface of this man. He was much more fun than some human she would pick up. Her hips would move under his hands, hoping to keep him interested and engaged. Rebekah had moved in closer, as his lips barely touched her jaw... his neck displayed almost perfectly. Playing around the edge, dancing on thin ice, made things much more exciting.

His lips moved towards hers, and this is where she would have kept him...

if he finished the act.

Green eyes would question his own blue, and an all to familiar feeling dropped to the pit of her stomach.

His hands left her hips, as he moved away muttering apologies. Her expression as he moved away, was dangerous... the expression of a huntress who was losing their prey. Rebekah took a step forward, pain throbbing in her gums as fangs wanted to push through. The lust, and the thrill of a true hunt was laid out before her... but she cut it off -- expression shifting to anger and disappointment. She may not care for the man, but getting turned down was a sting she never liked.

"Baggage...!" she seethed, as she turned herself around, grabbing the first human she saw. She would not follow Nathan like a some drooling whore, it was his loss. For once she hoped she would have had someone who was a bit more durable... a different flavor.

Someone she could not easily control.
A challenge.

Looking the drunk man in the eye, she whispered a few words and he would be hers for the night. If he wasn't completely sloshed, he may have been able to resist and think for himself. But for now, she was his thoughts.

Leading him by the hand she would take him to her new apartment... and have her way with him, as well as a late night snack. Before the sun would come up, he would snap out of it... and leave like he would with any woman.

Just another night.