"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It had been a few days since Taiga had fallen. There had been no sign of the wolves that had plotted and planned against him, he hopes they drowned. Choking and swallowing on sea water, burning in the mouths of the mockery canines that had been created to guard the ruined lands. He has no intention of going back to Taiga, not now at least in it’s current state. Besides there’s a new plan afoot. Taken from the secret heart of the water mare. An unexpected twist, not much surprises him but then again.. Revenge brings out so much that lays dormant.
It’s hard to think of that now. Instead he is consumed by the way Thana had worried him. Worry, that wasn’t a feeling he was use to nor one he wanted. Feelings were weights and only some were useful. However he is fond of the two toned mare, the way she finds joy in the pain of others. The delicious magic she can wield and uses to please him. Never has there been a more willing and pleasing disciple. Her bloodthirstiness is not as all consuming as Deimos, she has a cunning and malicious streak in her that correlates much with his own. Does she desire the same as he? Does she hunger for knowledge and thirst for answers as much as he?
It is nothing like the relationship he had with Minette. She had been a pawn, a plaything. Something to manipulate and use to his liking. He had warped her feelings, pretended to love her. Only to get what he wanted. Thana was different, almost an equal. He keeps her close while also keeping his distance. She could be the end of him or his greatest success. It’s hard to tell, such early days.
There is something that needs to be satiated by her, so the wraith seeks the shadows. Hunts her down. ”Thana…” The whisper growl that leaks through the woods, seeking his bluebird with fangs.
It is an insatiability she is not used to – a craving, deep within, stirring and festering like a gaping, open wound inside of her chest, leaving her breathless and wanton with a lust that went beyond power, beyond control. She had begun to feel possessive of him. She cared not who had him as a lover – (she, herself, had not yet taken him as such) – sexuality was meant to be shared, to be had by many, but there is a strange knot slowly developing near to her thrumming, violently beating heart that rouses whenever she is near to him and she can no longer ignore it.
It is not to be spoken aloud – there would be no startling confession, nor any declaration of devotion (did he not already know that she was his and his alone?). He has always preferred action over spoken word, and he had simply known her from the very beginning, without excessive explanation needed to vindicate the rush of adrenaline that surged through her sinew and bone when his yellowed teeth raked over her spine, or the crooning drawn from the dark confinement of her throat when he spoke of something particularly troublesome, or illicit.
It had simply always been –
And the irrational, unexplained agitation that had risen within her at the sight of another writhing against him, cooing to him their own promise and potential – ah, well, that was another thing entirely. She was unwavering, and there was no darkness she would not tread for him. She had found a kindred spirit, so much like her own sister Isra (oh, how she missed her so – and father too, hidden somewhere deep within the woodland shadow as he always was) and she was loath to release him into the clutches of another so easily. It stirred the bloodlust within her again; it roused the beast that lurked underneath the soft indigo of her skin and she longed to taste the blood of her enemy beneath her once again.
It would have to wait. There were more pressing matters –
Thana, his voice softly echoes in the shrouded darkness of the dense and heavy fog drifting through the thicket. She is still, then, her heart beating roughly once more, her two-toned gaze heavy and laden with impish mischievousness, and his scent is upon her – it does not take her long to find him.
”Gryffen,” she croons softly, brushing her dark mouth along the ridge of his jaw and lipping gently at the tangled mess of his mane, laying haphazardly across the paleness of his neck. ”here I am.”
Had he not been clear in his pleasure for her? Had he not shown the world that those that pleased him most would be greatly rewarded? Thana has been his most faithful servant, the most willing disciple. When asked to jump, she doesn’t question. She does as she’s told and executes to the highest standard. She has yet to disappoint, to let him down. There is no-one else that can stand by his side as she does as long as she continues to fulfill his high expectations.
The suffering of others means little to him (look at how little he cared for those that mourned the loss of Taiga, revealing in the brain matter that had splatters across his face when she had brained the mare to death). A true psychopath. A genius or a madman… But even he has a small spot in his withered black heart for the likes of her, his kindred spirit. His vengeful bluebird.
She comes as he beckons, cooing delightfully as she lips at his tangled mess of a mane. Crimson eyes flash with lust, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from sacking the autumn lands. They had already accomplished such great trials together. What could they take next, what could they destroy? Always looking for the next high, never satisfied until he has all the answers he seeks. His pale lips brush against the hollow of her jawline, placing a pinching nip with blunted teeth as he presses hard on her cobalt flesh. His body aches for her, in the need to discover the things about her he has yet to find.
Sex was always pleasurable but never important. He got off more on the destruction and chaos he put out in the world. The pleasures of the flesh were always rather lacking and fleeting compared to that. She, however, may be different. His rough touch trails teeth against her neck, yanking at the ebony tresses of her mane. Feeling a hunger for her that he had yet to unleash.
”You’ve done so well…..” A husky whisper, his bloodied iris’s drinking in the supple hollow of her shoulder, tracing the rounded curve of her hip. ”You deserve a reward.” Oh, she was already known as his right-hand. But perhaps there was something else she would want that might mirror his own needs. He had always just taken what he wanted and he doubts she would complain if he did. However, that stirring within him wants her consent. To have the satisfaction that she craves him as deep as he craves her.
She had never yearned for another.
Not as she yearned for him.
She had become too preoccupied with her own prowess – the sharpness of her fangs, and how easily her incisors punctured delicate, plump fowl against the surface of her tongue – or the ease in which she could manipulate organic matter, to reshape the darkness her shadow is so often swallowed by. She longed to be a part of something more that what had been given to her – the stillness of the woodland had not been enough to quell her wild and ravenous soul; not as it had been for her sister and her father. She craved destruction, chaos – she craved him; she longed to absorb his energy and to harness the sheer power that hung just beneath his sinewy tendons and the tender marrow of his bones.
He is like her – untamed, voracious in appetite and hungry for devastation and obliteration.
It lingered within her sordid blood, like a heavy sediment filling her wildly pounding, adrenaline-laced heart – dark, shriveled and callous, she would find her fill, by whatever means necessary.
He understood her – she understood him, and with it came a deep, unshakable desire to nestle herself deep within the sharp crevices of his body – her hip aligning with his, as the swell tucks against the jagged bone of his own, and her shoulder firmly settled against his own. His teeth brush across her jawline, and a shiver traverses along the slope of her spine. She was a sinful thing, but she had never partaken in the sin of skin – only in bloodshed, in slaughter and in sheer, unadulterated violence.
But he - he made her flesh quiver in a way that carnage could not, and as his teeth tug a tangled tress of her dark mane, sending a jolt of pleasure across the surface of her indigo flesh. There is a soft, but guttural murmur – an appraisal of her efforts; an appreciation for her devotion, with a promise entangled with his husky, carefully uttered words. Her body instinctively writhes beneath his mouth as it navigates the lithe and shapely form of her feminine physique, and she can feel the darkness of his gaze boring into her, tracing the rounded curve of her shoulder – the base of spine, where his teeth might grip and pull, and the roundness of her hips, where he might grip her to draw her closer to him.
When the pitchless black and dreary gray of her gaze settles into his own, it is not shy, nor meek – she had never been either – her words are laced with arousal and need, and rife with assertion.
”Fuck me,” she croons to him, through her two-toned forelock – a stark ivory lain across the blackness of her cheek. ”what are you waiting for?”
He can glamour himself into anything a heart desires. He could illusion himself into what she craves most. He does not penetrate into her dark heart to seek the truth for he feels he knows it already. She has followed him to the end and back a hundred times already. If she does not desire him now then she never will. Thana does not let him down. She never does. There’s a thrilling quiver in the depths of her shaded eyes. No rebuff on his intentions, instead she pushes against his pale flesh and writhes against him.
Fuck Me, she croons.
He pounces.
A rush of red and white as he devours his wolf, his scorching kisses are hard pressed against her cobalt skin. Stained teeth suck and pluck at the sensitive flesh along the slope of her nape, the exposed tissue between her ribs, the hidden parts beneath her thighs. His bite is rough as his jaws snap and pull against the smooth feminine curve of her hip. Pressing hard enough to leave teeth marks in it’s wake. To taste her blood and bruise her beneath him will bring just as much pleasure as the actual penetration.
He is well experienced in the ways of sex but he has never actually cared if the willing or unwilling partner enjoyed it or not. It had always been about him and him alone. This time… It’s not so much that he needs her approval. He wants to coax it from her just as he coaxes himself inside her. With a soul just as bloody as his, he doesn't doubt what will get her off.
As the anticipation builds, he moves behind her to stake his claim. His teeth grasp at the muscled part of her haunch (as if he has never watched the sashay of her curvaceous ass before him and thought to consume it) and pulls her back to him. Rising on top of her, hooves dig into her sides and his muzzle moves expertly towards the back of her neck. Pulling hard at the tendrils of raven locks that fall there towards him just as he slides himself within her. The moment she parts and yields, he is lost in primal desire. Teeth rake across her withers, hooves pinching against her ribs. He groans with his need for her, she is pure and untouched which makes her all the more enjoyable.
Tight. Warm. Pulsing. Frenzied. Sing for me blue bird.
His “love” bites cover her backside long before he finds his satisfaction within her. The way she writhes beneath him, the throaty gasps of excited breath. There is only so long he can hold back before he explodes and he is damp and tired by the time he slides off her. Tongue running along the back of her leg, tasting the beads of sweat that have formed along dark fur among other things.
There is a rare peace that falls over him as he comes to her side, calm and appeased. Once more, she has proved more than satisfactory.
She is breathless when his mouth is set upon her, with blunt teeth digging into her supple flesh with hard kisses pressed against protruding bone – she is delirious with delight, crooning softly as he devours her inch by inch, feeling her writhe against the warmth of his pale mouth. A shiver traverses the length of her spine, as arousal stirs within the pit of her belly, pressing her closer to him – and when his teeth begin to bruise her tender flesh, she can hardly suppress the deep and guttural moan from rising to the surface from the tightness of her throat, where her breathing becomes hitched and caught with each ravenous kiss.
When the heat of his mouth brushes across her hip and down along the sensitive skin of her thigh, her arousal is made known, enveloping him – roused by him, and only him, as her hips sashay to and fro with keen exhilaration, while her shapely legs splay before him, feeling the heat of his broad chest pressed willfully against her.
Her heart thrusts itself raggedly against the confinement of its cage, while her pulse thrums excitedly within her veins. A soft gasp echoes in the stillness of the air as his weight and warmth cover her, while his arousal presses readily against her and deep within her. She can hardly stifle a cry when he does finally take her; pleasure mixed with the sheer pain and she is caught breathless, trembling beneath him.
She is far from still – writhing against him, arching to meet his rhythmic motion, yearning to take the entirety of him – to keep him, to draw him closer, to feel him. When his teeth grip her delicate skin, splitting her flesh from sheer friction and delirious arousal, she is certain that he can taste her blood across his tongue while he takes her for his own and the mere thought of it is enough to push her over the edge – her body quivering with a low, croon of pleasurable satisfaction as he brings her to completion, spent within her, filling her with his seed and taking what had always been his.
His. Hers.
She did not care who he took beneath him – she felt no jealousy for where he placed his teeth, nor where he spent his seed. She felt possessive of him in a way that no sexual intimacy could touch; in a way that no one else could ever understand. Love held no candle to it. He is power, danger, prowess, desire and malevolence – he is hers, and she is his, and she would keep him for her own, and shed the blood of any that dare try to take him away from her.
When he is finished, his tongue and lips hungrily taste her – the blood, the sweat, her need for him – and she is voracious, as her dark lips press and kiss along the column of his throat, and the dampened, pale tresses that lay haphazardly over his neck. He is tired and serene, though his crooning bluebird is coiling against him, fitting flawlessly against the ridges of bone and muscle that made him what he is, yearning to be closer as her contentment is made known with her teeth and with her lips. When his pulse his warm against her mouth, as her teeth adoringly nip and kiss at the ridge of his jaw, she nearly growls into his skin a single, possessive word.
