He cannot understand perhaps, the effort with which the woman is going to, that whatever trust exists between them is a delicate, fragile thing like the finely woven spider web. His own trust, perhaps, is just as fickle, entirely of the belief that most within this world would seek to harm him simply because they desire to do it, the boy having received little by way of kindness for much of his existence and yet, by this same token he had hardly sought it- content to live his somewhat nomadic lifestyle in the years he had searched for his companion. Only after having found Nadya had he made some attempt at connection with others once more, those fine layers of trust he held strengthen by the bond of pack with Nadya alone, the delicate balance he held with the curly-haired woman something far more fine and breakable- his ability to offer others some level of understanding rapidly beginning to reduce each day he spent within the confines of Syn. The boy learning rather rapidly that there are precious few willing to....tolerate him and as such perhaps, has become...wary of those whom seem willing to have him near. He remains equally oblivious perhaps, the woman's desperate need for connection on some level, the girl so badly desiring something or someone to belong to, having attached herself in some regard to by far the most unsuitable male within the city. Instinct, it would seem, is a powerful thing, the wolfs need for packing pulling her close as his own conflicting desires seem to both pull her closer and yet push her away within the same heartbeat. Whether this is by manner of his own insanity however, or simply his own confliction cannot be said, the boy desiring and enjoying her company and yet his instinctive disapproval of canines seeming to warn him away all the same.

Her quite words seem to earn her some momentary relaxation from the tense creature, each muscle tightened and coiled beneath her grip as she moves to attempt to clean his hands, the soothing tones seeing him respond as any animal, calming slightly in response to this softer voice as he simply nods, his desire to have these three things evidently having earned the woman his compliance- at least this far, hands moving to brush hurriedly at his jeans in an effort to wipe away even the most harmless residue of water as the woman dips her wash cloth once more, attempting to wring free the water before reaching for his dark locks. Perhaps it is that momentary hesitation in herself, the way in which she bites the pillow of her lip, the nervous tension that bleeds so readily from her and into the deviant boy that sees his next reaction, that tiny thread of trust utterly unable to withstand her indecision and as such the boy moves to react as any animal when the leader within the situation falters- taking over this role for himself, taking matters into his own hands- in a manner of speaking. His teeth find purchase upon her fine, soft and creamy skin, sinking into the flesh and bone of her hand, panic, fear and irritation forced into the bite he delivers to her, her punishment for having upset him in this manner as she leaps upward, attempting to rip her hand free with little success before her free hand balls into a fist, slamming solidly into the side of his jaw. For a moment it would seem, the shock alone of this first punch sees the boys grip loosen, disbelief seeming to hold his gaze before the second punch sees his temperament shift entirely, biting down now with a wicked force, head shaking suddenly as if he has very well decided to rip her thumb off entirely- perceiving her attempts to save herself now as an attack against him, the need for self-preservation fuelling the natural instincts of the leopard- to eliminate the threat, rather then stop to lick his own wounds. Human teeth however, are not designed to puncture and cling like that of his animal form- the woman's relentless assault and struggling seeing his grip upon her loosen with each strike until her barrage of punches forces him to yield her mauled fleshes she stumbles away from him, his own eyes wide in shock and surprise though her blood still stains his lips as his mind struggles to perceive what has occurred.

For her part, the woman seems equally as stunned, clutching her hand as she stumbles into a chair, her evident pain doing little more than causing those dangerous dark eyes to linger upon her, his instinct alerting him again and again to her injuries- her pain, his belief of her as a predator struggling to remain intact as his mind shifts and changes, his desire to hunt what is weak slithering into his thoughts though her words seem to return his mind to the present once more, one hand lifting to rub at the side of his swollen raw, the pain from her relentless pounding seeming to have finally registered through the haze of bloodlust. Nadya had hit him...once and yet even that had been but a single strike, the force within the womans hand a...surprising thing to the boy, some part of himself wary of her now. Perhaps her wound spoke of weakness- but her punch did not, the barest thread of respect seeming to have entwined it's way about the she-wolf whom approaches him once more, her words earning her little other then a glare.

"I did.....the water....touched me."

His fear of it....is all consuming, mind unable to see sense in this regard and indeed perhaps it is illogical to her- yet it is not to him, his fear of water often reducing him entirely to but a shadow of himself. Her outstretched palms seem to do little to settle him and yet he remains seated all the same, the barest scraping of respect the woman seemed to have earned though her beating of him earning her that much. He will not respect what cannot make him and it would see perhaps, That Biride has achieved that much- at least for now. Her determination however, seems near equally matched with his own as his teeth grind over themselves, clever mind seeming to puzzle out her continued persistence against her ability to hit in conjunction with what fathom of respect she has earned from him.

"Alright."

His form seems to relax near entirely with this concession of defeat, moving to lean forward, resting his elbows atop the table as he does, wild dark (sticky) hair falling about his features, willing to offer her this victory it would seem- even if she had been forced to violence to win it. It is unfortunate perhaps, that this is the method to which he responds best- at least for now, her show of physical strength, while not nearly so powerful as his own, he is sure, having earned her the right to touch him in this regard. An entire shower however- would be utterly unquestionable. One hand lifts to trace at the pattern of the wood upon the table, back turned towards her now, content to allow her to approach when she sees fit, entire form held so entirely differently in these moments, mind seeming to have shifted entirely towards the reality of the situation before those dark eyes slide back towards her.

"I am not....a good learner."

What on earth this means remains to be seen as he continues to mutter to himself now, fingers tracing the same pattern over and over.

"I am not sorry...I bit you....you deserved it....but sometimes....maybe I am....a prick. People...tell me that."

madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push