Laurent's cold composure only inflamed Damen's rage tenfold. He seized the nearest items on the table - candlesticks, jeweled stands, and Laurent's damned cup - and threw them with impotent fury at Laurent's proudly fleeing figure. He swore at him in Akielon, Veretian, Patran, even languages from beyond the sea. He was aware, more than ever tonight, that he was a Beast and not a man, and that would never alter now.

It was only later, when the flame-hot ferocity had cooled somewhat, that Damen felt the burn of his wound and suffered the wind to tend to his hand. And when he barred himself in his chambers, a man again, and stared at his wrapped hand and remembered what he had threatened Laurent with, what he had been reduced to, he covered his face in his hands and mourned for the humanity that he was rapidly losing any hope of.