forget all the names we used to know
The needle dives fluidly beneath the skin, cold metal beneath warm life, and she displays all that he will ever need to know from that simple prick. An exchange he’s mastered many times by fingering the threads of Corvus’ emotions, all too applicable on this bristling she-wolf. He could laugh.
He does not however, because Thana is alongside him then and the rhythmic thud of their accelerating heartbeats suddenly trips into tandem as her cold, black nose drifts pleasantly close to his skin. She excites him; the ridge of thick fur along his topline crackles upright and he pauses, somewhere between a snarl and a mad grin, as her mouth slacks open and she toys with his pelt. The flash of bright pink as his tongue darts between his incisors serves to wet his gums; his tail stiffens, rises in turn.
“Should you know the pleasure…” Thana tempts, and the young shifter’s mind races with unspoken possibilities, “... there is so much more to me than a pretty face.”
He’d been lost, for a moment. The quiver of earth between his splayed toes brings him back, draws his eyes above him where Thana has begun to mentally gather her tools. Shorn free from the land, boulder, limb, and matter become an extension of her power, wielding themselves like unspoken promises while her fury grows. Distracted, Crevan can hardly fathom tearing his gaze from the scene: she builds a masterpiece of death without much effort, even the surge of wind from the encircling debris is strong enough to displace their fur.
Suddenly, he feels the sharp grip of her teeth before the pain sets in. The nape of his neck, where a fine growth of rolling fat and muscle have given him the semblance of protection, is now locked firmly between her jaws though he twists like a wild hare to free himself. They’re clashing swords, striking hot sparks as they arc through the air to meet with steely blocks, Thana blinding in her accuracy and thrusts. Crevan is a mighty two-handed, though, and he will tear his own skin by force if that’s what it takes to break her hold.
He’ll only need one good blow. She’ll need endless parry’s in order to subdue his regenerating flesh. Even now, as she forces him lower and onto his side, the skin heals nearly as quickly as she can break it. He slacks; only for a moment in hopes that her weight on top of his will allow him to easily flop onto his back, and from there his own hind claws will spring out to rake against her belly.
“Prove your mastery, NIGHTMOTHER!” He bellows mockingly.
revan