He abhorred that call that tugged at his mind and body, forcing him to abandon the life he'd built for himself to satisfy the very whims of a woman he'd once thought himself free from. Each evening he returned to the depths of Syn was yet another one in which the Were-King so feared he might not be allowed to leave. Re-adjusting to that life of solitary misery had taken a far greater toll upon his soul than he had anticipated. In her absence, the once apathetic man had blossomed into the very Alpha he was so meant to be. Where he had once established a perfect facade of indifference, now he held the weight of his pack upon his very shoulders. Those relationships he'd fostered had weakened him, softening that once hardened exterior to produce an empathy he'd once been able to separate himself from so flawlessly. Tetradore was hardly oblivious the very glee she took from this swift realization that things had changed. That fight within him had grown all the more intense and, in turn, so too had her demands. Risque had always delighted in pushing him to the very brink, in breaking him down an shattering everything that made him human only to twist him in some warped fashion into the monstrosity she sought for him to become.

He was certain, as he stared down at his hands, that he could still see blood under his nails. The man he'd killed tonight for her had begged for his life, had told them of the wife and daughter that he would be leaving behind - as if they would make any sort of difference to the vampiric woman. It was, instead, Tetradore that was left with the very guilt of it when then claws sank into the man's chest when those screams turned to gurgles when his canines tore out his throat. All of it left a vile taste in his mouth, one he'd almost forgotten the very flavor of. A soft breath left his lips as he stepped out of Risque's office in that human skin, temporarily released from his imprisonment within that crimson room when some business call demanded her attention. Now, it was that very desire to forget that called at him, prompting him to leave the vampire's hallway and into the main room of the vast club. How he detested this place - the thrum of her music echoed within his very bones, the loudness and bright flashing of those lights were jarring to his senses and yet, he had become well enough at simply tunning all of it out. He moved through the throng of bodies that so collected upon the main floor, despising the very closeness of their frames pressed against him. At the very least, the rendition of Syn that he had burned to the very ground had been populated by faces that recognized him enough to move out of his way.

It was several forceful shoves later that Tetradore found himself blissfully free of the throng of people, the man entirely content to skirt the corners of the large room as he made his way towards the bar. "Whiskey, neat. Make it a double." He commanded simply to the woman on the other side of that black granite countertop. The Were-King all but collapsed in the bar stool in the furthest corner of the bar, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly as Tetradore ran his hand through those curly brunette locks. He knew Risque would find him again when she desired him, the were-feline bound to that dance club until the moon fell beyond the horizon and he once more regained some level of autonomy. Until then, that glass placed in front of him seemed more than enough to drown his thoughts within. With his very back to the world, Tetradore was content to simply sip upon the beverage within, the Were-King all but oblivious to who else now stalked these halls, nor did he anticipate in the slightest to be joined by that eerily familiar face.