The Sealgair Fuil's gathering place during blood meals, the runestone circle marring the rugged old hill, was tense. High as the stones towered, they could not dwarf the imperious presence of Cuan, at least for Cormag, the youngest of them all. Maybe Idé felt the same. Or maybe she was just angry. The fire she brought into the wild sanctuary was taking a toll on him; it wasn't the same fire he'd grown to like, but one that held him at bay. He wanted things to be like they used to.
He was relieved to have a sample of that life when she patted her leg, asking him to come to her where she sat in the long dewy grass with her back to a stone. Obedient, Cormag slinked to her as inconspicuously as he could and curled up on the ground with his head in her lap. She twisted her long, white, elegant fingers through his winter hair, and they disappeared in it. His muscles loosened, his claws digging contentedly into the soil. Waiting his turn to feed would be easier, like this. He had missed the way this felt.
Cuan, however, didn't miss a thing.
His eyes never left the two for the entirety of the clan's supping, never, as the chosen were passed ceremoniously from vampire to vampire; burning low, and calculating, and full of hate, they alone ordered Idé to heed him. Idé saw it. No other vampire would dare challenge his gaze when his mood steeped to this level, none but her, his cherished daughter. She thumbed the side of Cormag's forehead as she looked on, refusing to ignore her fledge to satisfy her sire.
Let him burn in his fury. He would not take this fledgling from her. She would kill him before he tried.
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