The words of the demoness didn't filter through to Alistair's world of awareness immediately. He had been locked in this cell for a long time without even the littlest of indulgences, and Tanith's blood was perhaps the thing he had coveted most in his entire long life. In a matter of only seconds his excitement had coiled low in his frame, boiled over, and then spilled out onto the floor. Quite literally -- seeing as Angeline insist he wear nothing but a loincloth.
He was being commanded to release his prize. Alistair's head was crowded and loud with a steady, throbbing hum, but he was starting to register that. It was probably not the worst idea ever. He needn't rush his joys with Tanith. Someday she would be his -- and it was quite obvious he would have to take it very slow. Alistair released Tanith and relaxed back against the floor of his cell, limp as a boned fish. He couldn't bring himself to be ashamed of his attempts, or even of the stain he'd left on the floor. Or, stains. Yes. Plural.
Alistair flashed a lazy grin. "As my lady commands," he agreed, easily. "Forgive me, Demoness, but when you dangle a morsel in front of a beast you can hardly blame the creature for taking a taste."