That, or restlessness. Wolfeite had taken to ranging around the streets at night more so than he already did, feeling a pulsing hunger throbbing just below his breastbone on most days. He was antsy in a way he couldn't explain, snarling and snapping with razor sharp teeth at everything that passed him by, sliding deeper and deeper into the shadows.
The youma half of him was growing stronger. It clawed at his chest, a physical thing, dragged at his breath and choked its way up his throat. Wolfeite could feel it searing all the way through to his fingertips, the urge to tear something, to rip, to burn it all to the ground and eat the ashes wrapping its hands around him and slowly suppressing any other oxygen.
Starseeds. He needed starseeds.
And fighting. And more.
The hunger burned burned.
Tourmaline was a fighter. She would fight him, or if not, she would know where to go. Wolfeite cared extremely little to depend on other people, and he certainly did not depend on Tourmaline to do anything for him, but they did, after all, have an arrangement.
He did not call for her. He roamed around the places he knew she had a liking for and waited, Maledictus growling lowly at his side.
Skye Starrfyre