He feels her presence: the cold sharp sting of her breath whips his hair and whistles its way through the gaps in his armour; chills him to the bone. He tolerates her presence, however, if only because from the corner of his eye he can only see blonde hair and pale skin and perhaps he can pretend it is the woman he loves, not the devil that haunts his every waking hour, with cold lips pressing stinging kisses against his jaw.
She finds him amusing. His broad back and stiff shoulders and cold, indifferent air serve only as an ironic compliment to the weak, fearful man he really is. He is an interesting toy indeed, and Barbariccia wants to break it, to feel the snap of bones under her claws and the drip of blood onto her hands.
Kain knows this, and it terrifies him.