Isaac watched as the large, white wolf shifted into his human form. It was always a strange sight to witness; the retraction of fur, the change in the shape of the face, the stretching and shortening of limbs. It all looked so painful, something that the dark-haired vampire was pleased to never experience. The werewolves were afflicted creatures, plagued by their own bodies and infected nature. Vampires, Isaac believed, were superior in every way. His own kind were graceful, regal, and best of all, not deformed. Knowing that, Isaac wasn't sure why the werewolves didn't just back down, and be happy to still have the territory that the coven had generously given them. 

The nakedness of the other man hardly fazed Isaac, although he did think the boldness was a bit gauche. It was much like a werewolf to have no manners. “Preventing a war by crossing the river and not turning back when I warned you? That makes sense,” the lithe vampire responded with a scoff. He ran a hand back through his dark hair, frustrated with the conversation already.

Raising an eyebrow, Isaac watched as the wolf made a fool of himself, falling all over the place like a newborn foal. He found himself glowering, unable to understand why [i]Aiden[/i] wasn't taking this seriously. Isaac had no time for idle chit-chat, and he wasn't going to engage with someone who was incapable of standing on his own two feet without tripping. “My name isn't your business,” he snapped, eyes growing darker. “Pick yourself up and go back the way you came before my coven makes a rug out of you.”

The others were bound to be along soon with that such a stink in the air, like sharks to water, vampires could smell blood in the air a mile away. Blood from a werewolf had a distinct quality, and if one could get past the small, the drink was invigorating and provided extra strength to their already enhanced abilities.