He'd found himself again, no longer as deeply wounded by a broken heart, yet that wasn't to say he didn't feel loss, hurt and loneliness still. But life had given him reasons enough to venture on the side of optimism, thus it was he strove to create stronger roots within Nanthalion. To do that he needed more coin than he could currently lay his hands on.
Having had good reason to avoid Unigo, despite his love of reading, widening his depth of knowledge. The Seductress Opal within having wrapped his head in a lustful haze while denying and degrading him, it was an experience he'd loathed, to have that control taken from him, to be brought to such a desperately aroused state without release.
Following on the heels of that encounter another who was far worse. Redheaded, confident, beautiful, akin to the women of his own lands. Yet cruel, manipulative, possessive. His attraction to her was hardly surprising at all. But when she'd used her whip, her crew as well to capture him, his physical strength and determination had stood for nothing.
Defiant, recklessly so he'd found the opening to throw himself overboard from the ship that bitch Ivy had him dragged too, barely surviving the ordeal as only the current washing him ashore had kept him from becoming another soul lost at sea.
Her smug grin and confidence that he couldn't elude her if she really chose to hunt him down, well that had been a long time ago now and he'd convinced himself she'd found another to torment, and better he was for it. It meant the docks had too long become a place he was reluctant to visit. He'd a slave and potentially others to take under his protection.
Might Makes Right, he well knew, but considered Ivy's methods to be cheating, his confidence bolstered since those events had happened had him convinced on a level playing field he could force that little bitch into a collar and make her suffer.
So it was, a message conveyed to him that a redhead had been captured and looked fitting for a collar made him overcome his gut instincts to stay away. He wanted revenge for the pain and humiliation wrought upon him.
Clad in steely resolve, his own whip wound, and threaded through his belt, he sought to discover whether that opportunity to turn the tables had presented itself. His silver hued eyes as he trod towards the address he'd written down were on any rapscallions or pathetic little curs he imagined she'd hire if this was other then it seemed to be.
Wearing simple attire, an open collared short sleeved white tunic,so his arms were free, brown leather pants, that hugged his muscular legs and firm rear, offering protection without constraining his movement. He resisted bearing more arms or heavier armour to such an encounter, refusing to show weakness, to try and compensate as if Ivy were worthy of being a threat still.
It would be different this time he vowed and he wasn't going to hold back, even if it meant beating her into submission and dunking her head into the foul, oil slickened, debris strewn waters of the harbour, the image making him grin. That would make her feel as pitiful as she deserved.