He can smell her flesh, smell her blood, smell her weakness. It calls to him like a siren song, luring his form from within the darkened confines of his kingdom, that scared and battered frame, ravaged and torn from so many years and so many fangs still retains its illusion of perfection- thickened pelt of ebony concealing so many of the marks that litter his pelt beneath that fur coat like barbed wire twisted and tangled and forgotten. So many years he has plagued this earth, so many nights he has haunted and hunted in equal turns seeking out those whom bleed their vile weakness upon the earth. He is made to remove them, made to destroy those whom do not deserve life, their flesh consumed to fuel his own, to strengthen their lines in turn and yet they do not applaud him- do not welcome him into their folds. They come at him with fangs bared and eyes ablaze as if he is Death on dark wings and their baying will see him flee. They pray for his destruction, shout for his demise and yet one after the other they fall before him- in time. Age ravages them, injuries weaken them- some are born without a will strong enough to live and in turn he reaps his rewards. He follows behind, he waits within the shadows- for even the strongest falter in time, even the strongest struggle to breathe or bleed out upon the earth and allow him an easy meal. He purges this land of weakness and still….they fear him. The nightmare of Moladion- tonight he returns for what is his.
He cannot perceive the hold of time, does not see that the wolfess he seeks is not the one he remembers within his minds fractured picture. Her scent is the same, else similar enough to cause the demons of his mind to bristle and snarl and rake claws against his mind. Her scent alone sees his mouth water, saliva pooling within his jaws, each darkened limb struck more forcefully against the earth as he draws closer and closer still to the female he has haunted for years, his mind forming his obsession for her as a child- those dangerous tendrils of fractured thought wrapped and coiled about her in a combination of need that has forever existed. He desires her flesh, her blood and yet….he desires her submission, her presence beside him. He desires to own her. He cannot perceive emotion, not truly, those fingers of feeling cannot permeate a mind driven mad with instinct alone, the creature existing only to feed or to breed as nature demands and tonight once more his thoughts are ensnared. Hunger drives him, the taint of weakness drives him and yet…so does the scent of a female within the winter, each desire formed and twisted to meld into nothing short of need. A need without name, a need for her alone as the darkness parts and shifts to allow the darkened Prince- last heir of Judila, to step from the shadows and into her path.
He is perfection in the darkness, reptilian eyes of emerald green aglow within the gloom, a rising, towering creature of masculine evolution. The perfect male in build and type and blood and breeding. He is all he should be and more and yet his mind is ravaged and torn beyond all repair, contorting his beauty into little more than ferocity in much the same way a wildfire is beautiful as it burns and ravages all in its path. Each frosted breath rises like smoke within the air as he stands, eyes upon her own, form blocking her path as the darkness embraces it’s King and heckles lift like blackened knives upon his form in warning. He will not tolerate her snapping. She is his belonging, she has always been and he desires what is his.
A rumbling snarl contorts within that ravaged throat, head lowered suddenly in the way one does to drive prey, lips peeled back to expose the white of his fangs within the half light of the moon as he presses forward, presses into her space- aiming to press her back- to force her yield from him even now as he towers above. The scented of crusted blood draws his gaze, saliva run like strings of silk from his lip to slather the earth below as his muzzle reaches for that injured side, chest thrown forward to press against her own, neck arched about her as if to embrace her- to hold her within the darkness, to keep her still as he moves to….lick at this wound, to taste it, to nibble at it- for he will eat her alive if he must, if she cannot command him back, tongue aiming to swipe against her side over and over, each stroke more….aggressive then the last as he presses into her still, leaning his weight upon her before his motion is sudden- the male given to pivot in place as lips pull from whatever part of her side he may have been able to find. Another scent draws him, the scent of winter itself, stronger now, potent upon her- his mind…frustrated, confused- hunger and desire given to combine as his muzzle extends towards her tail, to taste of the air. For once, it would seem, hunger has become secondary, instinct demands another reaction- one nature will not allow him to ignore as he shifts again, pressing his form against her own once more- testing her.
Jaws part to grip suddenly at her ruff, to see if he may hold it, hold her, one foreleg lifted, slung across her back and shoulders- seeing how far she may allow him to go- another growl of warning coiled within his throat as he tests again, refusing to allow himself vulnerability in such a position until he is assured of her reaction. His weight shifts again, aiming to pull her further beneath him- to more firmly grip her ruff and hold her still before she can struggle free…..