The stone floor beneath her feet and fingers was a beautiful contrast of cool to the warmth of the bath still lingering across her every supple limb. Stolen vitality helped as well, pinkening the vampiress' skin, giving all those inside her grand estate whom dared a glance the illusion she was a living, breathing, harmless little damsel going for a mischievous stroll through the catacombs of her wealthy parents estate.

But this was no harmless damsel, the many staircases and unlit, labyrinthine turn-ways were her own and no others, and the luxurious inhale that passed across those lush, coral tinged tiers? It was no exhilarated prequel to an invigorating exhale, but the savory draw inwards of the many scents about her as she moved soundlessly off the last step of her journey and onto the ice cold, stone flat of her destination.

"Mmm....running low it seems." Came her slow, outward musing. The words were accompanied by a displeased cluck of that serpentine tongue against the fang sharp edge of her white, white teeth.

The long, cavernous stretch of darkness that faced the lady of the house was....Obscene. Dank, dark, half molded and seemingly forgotten. A vision right out of Dante's Inferno, complete with a few half smoldering torches flickering in the deepest, darkest stretch of the cells that lines the walls. Any cannibal would be proud to shop here for their afternoon delights, for the vampiress kept a wide, exotic selection of bodies at all times. Unfortunately, as she'd mused, her stocks were running low. The underground city she'd made of her chattel seemed endless, but that endlessness had more than a few empty pockets of space as of late, skeletons and half eaten limbs aside. Walking through the dark, one bare foot before the other, Moira let her eyes take a trip along what was left. Her gaze trickled over a cell that was covered in the viscera of it's last prisoner, and her fingers reached out to play in the half decayed muck, stroking a bit of withered intestine with all the fondness of a shy lover looking over her first.

"What a pity." There came that quick cluck of her tongue again, and with little more than a sharp turn of her head and a flick of those bone thing fingers, the vampiress turned, inhaling deeply as a sudden cry shrieked out from down the line of cells and about a few winding corners.

The femme fatale's stock was chiefly for her own amusement, of course, but that also meant feeding her hungrier pets and entertaining her more peckish guests. So while she had a small myriad of reasons as to why there would be so clear and healthy a voice crying out in pain, Moira's nose and diamond-fine hearing gave her a fine visual long before her diminutive steps brought her to the scene.

Two of her wolves had found one of the lesser stocks to play with; they held no shame, playing with their food even as they'd already begun to torment and feed from it. Unlike the thick, proud specimen she'd spent hours laying delicious ruin to upstairs in her private chambers, down here, the lovely female she saw now, so pale and pristine and dusted with the finest icelandic freckles....Well. To see all those violent ribbons of red painted deep into the pretty perfection of her skin; to see the way her body wracked with sobs, arcing and bending like the most beautiful little puppet to her tormenter's clawed strings; it was enough to make the mistress of the house expose her fangs. Ever the masochist, however, she did not indulge...

She watched. As she watched, she played. Her nails drove slim, sweet lines of red along either arm, spilling the fresh feed of blood she'd recently taken. The motions and razor fine caresses droves a sweetheart's noises from her, and each noise spurred the wolves hunger to new heights. When Moira moaned, they ripped; when she whimpered and stretched her body back against the icy weight of the wall behind her, they snarled their delight.

Unlike her own drawn out games, the beasts she housed did not have the aristocratic patience and the choice tastes of tact that came with savoring the death of a plaything. They ruined the poor woman between their misshapen hands in what was little more than the lingering span of the hour. Moira watched as the woman screamed herself hoarse, she watched as the were beasts with their swollen pricks erect and ready ripped their prey apart inch by sublime inch. Despite their arousal and obvious blood lust, they did not mount their meal before it's death. No, the vampiress had them trained to the ne plus ultra. The blonde beaux had made sure long ago that her displeasure was to be feared above all else, and would overrule even the most base instinct of her brutish crawlers.

Riding an inexplicable high, and stricken by one of her rarer moments of generosity, Moira let her bloody arms down to them as they finished with their meal. The wolves came without further prompting, their bones snapping and cracking, popping and sinking back into place as the ragged fur across their bodies melted back down into the tanned, scarred leather of their man flesh. As the beasts lapped away the ruby mess, their tongues were eager and gentle all at the same time; gentle out of fear born respect; eager for they knew their mistress' temperament was volatile and subject to lightning swift change at the bat of a lash.

They were greedy for her power, and would take every drop they could until those pale bone wrists so pretty and pink with fresh blood were taken away. When she spoke, however, that tone of ecstasy was gone; replaced by a colder, almost distant tone.

"Go hunt for me....I want names, I want faces, locations. It is time to refill our pantry." Striking at the beast on her left without warning as he dallied too long in moving away to carry out her request, the were howled in his man voice, dark eyes apologetic and stricken as he joined his feeding partner and turned away into the darkness.