Something was amiss and Gravon could feel that in the air. the normal sense and scent of arousal tempered by an anticipation. A cruel and malicious taste that he could not shake. He was looking when he had turned, his eyes searching crowd as he challenged them. None had met him directly, but there was one, a man by his height and stature, who was looking past Gravon, looking at the Valerian behind him before she was undressed. When Gravon turned, stood before her and waited, he began to know why.<br/><br/>At Genevieve's baring Gravon felt his blood burn. He knew he would not be able to hide his full reaction, not even the Dowayne of Mandrake could have seen what he now witness and not felt something. His girth began to fill, growing heavier, dangling more full as arousal competed with his mind, wanting so very much to present itself to the Flower before him. A Valerian, the night to his day, the willow to his thorns. Just the sight of her drew his teeth together, made his hands ache to close on her flesh, pin her roughly and show to world the beauty of release. More than just an act, it was sacred, and no two would know it better than Mandrake and Valerian.<br/><br/>Like a cat he took two steps toward her, first towards the man who was undressing her. Stalking at him as if fight him for the prize now bared. The man man fled even as Gravon released the Flogger, turning to see the woman who had assisted them as well. She was easy to read, the lust that poured from the woman could be felt, it was hard to tell if she wanted the place of the Valerian, or to take them both. Gravon simply stared, his legs flexing, eyes focused, the trail of blood from the earlier cut still trickling down the muscled thigh. The woman swallowed, and began to back away.<br/>'<br/>As the woman back away Gravon acted, acted in a way that was both in his nature and not. He stalked forward, walked into the Valerian with an auidble smack. His chest pushing her, making her take a step and then another backwards as he forced himself to her body, tightening their forms, for a moment making them one. His hand launched up taking her by the hair and tightening at the base. However... there was no pain, the grip was false, looking painful but conveying no pull.<br/><br/>"There is someone here who is delighting in your display, but not in a good way, do you have an enemy here." His voice was as silent as death,  whispered with lips unmoving. A talent some of the adepts had learned to convey secrets when open Salons were held. He turned her head to his, then closed his mouth about the skin under her ear. To the crowd he would look as if he were biting her, it succeeded in hiding her mouth right under his ear. He turned her, again finding the man whose joy and merriment did not come from the sanctity of the Night court meeting, no, Gravon knew the look of the man, had seen it more than once. He was dangerous. "Speak quickly, for he is looking excited in the idea of your suffering, but not under the auspice of your sacred art."