What must it be like, not being born a shifter? That piece of news surprises her, though she’s glad that he doesn’t get offended about her comment about his attitude. It would surely be a terrible turn of events to find out he was just as annoying as other stallions, quick to anger and yet without the fire she craved so desperately. The pieces he gives her are interesting, though, and something shifts a little more in her. He already commanded most of her attention and she can feel herself being more drawn in.
Her mind is working for something they could try, some way to bridge the gap he feels between lion and stallion, when he speaks again and she catches the intention in his tone. That predatory grin appears once more, so easily coaxed out of her. For a moment she thinks about climbing from the perch upon the boulder but ultimately she decides to wait.
“Where indeed. Perhaps if you moved a little closer, you may find one.” She purrs out the words, her voice husky. There's an invitation there and while the words themselves aren't dangerous, perhaps the actions that might follow will be. Vastra cannot bring herself to mind - not when there is a small thrill within her chest as she watches him and the mischievous glint in his eyes becomes mirrored in her own.
Danger was part of the fun - after all, and if she was going to help him find himself they would almost certainly need to be closer than this.
Svedka hardly finds the time to allow himself to become offended; he is often too busy being the social butterfly that he naturally is, too preoccupied with making everyone his best friend to even consider that their comments were meant to harm or maim him. He did not find it naive but simply the way he is - his heart is too big for this world.
She grins and Svedka feels a delectable shiver journey down his spine, the flick of his tail more catlike than equine as it slashes at his ivory ankles. She is not afraid - there is no hesitancy or second-guessing when she invites him closer - and the stallion, despite all his fear and anxiety with his own inner turmoil, feels as though perhaps there is a chance that he could become like her; a true lioness, comfortable and powerful within her second skin. Svedka snorts softly, stepping yet again closer, feeling the bars of his prison bending with the press of the cougar, begging for release.
And so, with one deep exhale, Svedka complies. The cerulean eyes - bright and wild (and a little bit fearful) - click to that of the deep black of the lion.
The energy in his shift is synonymous and graceful for one that claims there is such turmoil between the two. As stallion falls away and the mountain lion takes his place, Svedka leaps onto the boulder beside Vastra, a dull and happy purr contentedly thrumming in his throat. The lion - larger than the female that lounges beside him - thumps heavily onto the warm rock, his dark and nearly black pupils watching her intently. A little chirp leaves the white of his muzzle, the expressiveness of his dark brows and black-lined eyes making him almost look inquisitive and curious.
He basks in the sun with a rather gentlemanly demeanor, as if he had heard all of the talk Svedka had told her and was desperate to prove him absolutely wrong.
Vastra had not actually expected him to shift. She just expected him to come over as he was. And he took another step forward as himself and that was thrill enough - but then he shifts and the surprise that hits her has a weight to it. She’s seen Chel shift but it is something else entirely to watch someone not of her own blood do it. It’s a fascinating moment.
She actually stands in her excitement - pushing up with large paws as grey-blue eyes absolutely lighting up when she sees the massive lion he turns into. Just looking at him calls to something deep and primal in her and she does her best to squash it - trying to force herself to see just a little bit of sense and not wrestle with him, egg him to jump her right then and there.
Get it together, Vastra.
In this form, his eyes are deep black instead of crisp blue. She follows every movement of his massive form - dwarfing her as he climbs onto the boulder beside her and settles down. He’s so relaxed it’s difficult to see what the fuss had been about - and she needs to remind herself that this is not the same mind she has been talking to and she needs to relearn who he is now. She settles back down next to him - unabashedly taking him in as he basks in the sun beside her.
He’s beautiful and dangerous - the best combination.
Belatedly, she responds to his chirp with one of her own - unable to contain her curiosity and her interest. It doesn’t make sense to use words, not when there’s another, feline language they can speak now.
The deep color of his eyes watch the lioness contentedly. He is far more interested than he lets on, but the puma remains lax as he lounges across her sunning rock, even as she stands over him with curiosity in her stance. Svedka himself is somewhere within his own chamber, locked away and sleeping, unknowing of the actions that occur now beneath the winter sun. The black tip of his tail flicks gently, flexing the claws in his forepaws as he stretches, scraping and sharpening them absentmindedly. He yawns, the rough pink of his tongue flickering between long and sharp canines, his black-lined mouth coming to a close in a lazy snap.
The lion then rises, the tawny of his pelt shimmering as the muscles of his shoulders tighten and release to stand him upright. His white muzzle puffs as a gentle huff leaves him, ears tipping back slightly. A deep growl resounds in his chest, low and barely audible, his pink nose twitching as he inhales her scent. The lion did not look at her as a horse that has shifted into a cougar - he only sees her as one beast and does not care if there is the mind of a prey animal behind those dark eyes.
His black lips curl back in a soft snarl, somewhat of an invitation as the sound of another growl reverberates in his chest. He comes closer, standing over her, dark and feral eyes sweeping the gold, white, and black of her body.
A single paw reaches out in a sweeping step, attempting to pull her closer to him and to see just exactly what she would do.
She’s silent in response to his growls and snarls, believing there is no menace behind them. Her tail flicks behind her lazily as she watches him - not even deigning to pretend she’s focused on anything other than him.
Which suits just fine - she can tell he’s not admiring the flowers either as he moves closer.
A deep, contented purr radiates from Vastra as she allows herself to be pulled closer and she rubs against him. Her fur against his, taking absolutely no delight whatsoever in the fact that she feels small next to him but some delight in his magnificent shape nonetheless. Her movements, the bright flash of her storm coloured eyes, are full of suggestion, full of desire, intoxicated on this treat and this distraction. She could bury herself in him (or more likely the other way around...) and they could tear each other apart, she thinks.
She cannot wait to begin, moving against him until her tail curls against his face and her entire body already feels as though it is on fire. Vastra does not care that they are standing on a boulder, in full view of anyone else in the meadow. For a brief, wild moment, everything else falls away and there is only the intensity of her wish for what must come next.
But then her mind gets in the way.
With his scent around her and her body pressed eagerly against his, she thinks of her family - though this has nothing to do with them and she feels no guilt - but chasing that thought is the memory of the golden stallion and how he had been separate from his lion. How he lost time and didn’t remember what happened after he had shifted whether he had enjoyed any of the adventures or not.
And she knows this isn’t right. Knows that locked within the lion is the mind of an equine that, though they might have teased and flirted moments ago, cannot possibly consent to what could happen here. She is not lost in this feral, animal mind anymore. She cannot ignore the facts.
So Vastra withdraws, leaping from the boulder to put space between them - that playfulness gone and replaced with hardness as she keeps her eyes on him - watchful for his reaction. Will he think it another tease, another game? Or will he easily see this rejection for what it is?
She is silent and he takes it as a means for him to move forward, his dark eyes endless in their depths as they focus on the fierce storm grey of the lioness before him. She reacts with little emotion to his growls and simperings, leaving him with a gentle quirk in his brows. Her stare is unequivocally apparent; her gaze stares deep into his - there is something primal and fierce between the two, a magnetism that could not be explained except perhaps pure instinct. And ‘Svedka’ was willing to follow it’s lead as his black-lined lips dampen with the roughness of his pink tongue across them.
Her purr seems to radiate from her chest and vibrate through the warmth stone they both bask upon, causing the larger of the breed to stand up at its sound. Her entire body pulses against him, like nature intended, her tail gently flicking against the curve of his short jawline. There is a snarl against the male’s dark lips, one full of intent and possession, ominous and savage all at once.
He follows her lead, pressing and purring against her thick fur with intention and deep passion. And then, quickly and suddenly, she pulls away from him; jumping onto the meadow grasses without a thought. The lion snarls this time, with agitation and frustration, pining for her body that had been so close to his only moments ago. This facial expression - terrible and dark - that graces his handsome face will not be lost on the woman that now stands below. He had been set on one thing, it seems, since the shift and he is not fond of letting it go.
The mountain lion leaps from the sun-warmed bolder as she had done, a flick of his tail as he lands with a solid and unmistakable thud. His dark eyes - endless and abysmal - rove her body and fell to her grey irises with hunger and frustration in his eyes. He steps closer, unwilling to accept her rejection and willing to risk her claws and teeth for another chance.
He swipes a single, large paw towards her - half in jest, half testing the waters before him as a thoughtful and persuading growl resonates in his chest.
It feels as though she’s playing with fire. And part of her wants to stop playing, to just burn, but her resolve grows stronger with the distance between them. This is the right thing to do, as much as she hates this conscience within her it’s the price she pays for remaining herself. For not giving into the feral whims and losing herself, losing those she loves.
She has forgotten that she was going to try to help Svedka control the beast inside of him, and now she is just thinking that she just needs to make sure they both survive it.
The dark expression on his beautiful, ferocious face sends a chill through her and her heartbeat picks up. Whether from excitement or a more healthy emotion like fear, Vastra cannot say. Undoubtedly a combination of both.
He follows her off the boulder and she cannot help but be reminded of his size once again. How he dwarfs her, and the frustration and hunger in him is bright and obvious. Her tail flicks behind her as she stays facing him, her muscles tense in anticipation. When he swipes out a large paw at her, she dances backwards - a soft growl escaping her as she crouches low. Her own half-test as she takes another backwards step - but never without removing her storm-grey eyes from him.
They’re both walking the edge of a cliff now and she’s sure she’s going to be able to taste it in the air when something snaps and they both tumble off.
She is playing with fire; and it is not so easily quelled. What Svedka spoke of was unmistakably true and as the mountain lion’s gaze turns shadowy with realization, Vastra will soon find this out too.
The lion’s purr becomes much more intense suddenly. It is forceful and not at all the persuasive and curious tone that had vibrated in his chest before. It is a warning, a reminder, but it is something he is not generous with. When she avoids his sheathed paw with a graceful leap back, that vibration in his throat turns cold and tight, a yowl of displeasure ripping through the black lines of his now snarling lips. It is a sound that will shiver the spine of any in the area, advising them to flee far from the scene that is about to unfold.
A hiss then trails out of his mouth as the sound of his screech dies, poised now before her like a cobra - his head between his shoulders, snaking to and fro as he paces before her. Rage quickly replaces any lust or attraction that had been swimming in his eyes moments ago and if the lion had any thoughts beside instinct, he would wonder if the equine within her shudders with fear beneath her own lion’s skin.
The male puma’s gaze is suspended on the greyscale of hers, black and shining and cold.
He awaits for her to make the fatal mistake that he knows she will decide to make.
Her purposeful step back is synchronized with his own movement: leaping towards her with unsheathed claws and outstretched forelegs, ready to shred and tear and show his dominance over her in whatever way was necessary.
Fear continues to remain a secondary emotion. It’s obvious she has angered him, but Vastra won’t be cowed by snarls and yowls - it delights her. How long has she gone without a formidable opponent? There are flashes of her other-life, of the years spent as a matriarch lion, and she remembers tumbling with young males to keep them in line and their indignant anger at her refusals.
She has not stretched these muscles in so long and as his anger grows her delight rises to meet it until she is laughing when he leaps at her. It is a very un-lionlike laugh but it is rough and smoky, the laugh of someone intoxicated. Who has just been given something that she has been craving for so long.
No snarls escape her after the laughter momentarily fades, though her storm-grey eyes continue to blaze with a wild grin. Even if she could find her anger or fear, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see it.
He plows into her with his outstretched forelegs and she can feel the claws dig into her shoulders but her own legs reach out, holding onto him in turn with her claws and trying to keep them locked as she tumbles backwards and brings him with her. Her hindlegs curl up as her back collides with the ground and then kick out at his stomach, pushing upwards with a burst of strength. He’s heavy but she’s strong and has no anger to blind her.
She attempts to capitalize on the momentum from his lunge with that kick to toss them over again until she’s on top - snapping her jaws at him as she tries to pin the beast.
Vastra is more than ready for the fight that ensues. She welcomes it with laughter, which rages the male all the more. Perhaps in the next few moments she would realize that this - that he - is no laughing matter.
They meet with a solid collision, muscle against muscle, shuddering through their bones. His forward motion plows into her but she is smart enough to move with that motion, bringing him with her as they fell. Her hindlegs push into his pale white of his underbelly, unsheathed claws tearing into soft flesh as she aims to throw him beneath her. She is successful, thanks to the powerful leap that he had just administered, but the ferocity in the snarling male is robust and spitting compared to that cool and calm on Vastra’s expression. She’s trying to pin him, quell the anger that spins so furiously within him, but her current position only rouses the beast more.
The mountain lion thrashes angrily, especially as her jaws snap above him. Their heads dodge each other in this position, snaking back and forth to keep the other from reaching but also striking offensively. He reaches his neck forward to bite her (hopefully her neck), but his own movement was timed terribly with Vastra’s - she found an opening as he stretches forward and sinks her teeth into the portion of his skin where his neck meets his shoulder. The scream that comes from him is unearthly, the sticky and warm feeling of his blood fueling his rage.
It seems that was all he needed.
As she bites down, those large paws that were once pinned now are set free - both grab at her shoulders simultaneously, pulling her weight off of him with the help from a push of his hindlegs - flinging her to the side with a thud. Her teeth ripped a good chunk of skin out of him and as the lion rolls to stand, there is maliciousness in his eyes.
