Kershov managed to elicit a ringing scream of pleasure from his warrior lover—a resounding cry of triumph and release that shivered through the forest and arced into the atmosphere like a phoenix taking flight. The magma that had boiled around them, heating their skin as they drew closer in their dangerous game of seduction, now boiled and splashed in their blood—consuming them in a mutual pyre. Flames licking crimson and gold over their undulating muscles. Bright sparks carried on their panting breath. Volcanoes pouring forth their thick liquid heat inside pounding breasts, melting inhibitions and reason with a steady flow of all-consuming lava, destroying, reforming, sudden bonds of rock-solid strength where sexual frenzy cooled into understanding. Ker pounded ferociously at the yielding softness Athene offered him, and gradually they both established a rhythm that felt even more divine than their initial wild coupling. Their blaze reached astronomical, savage, roiling heights . . . and then smoldered into scarlet coals, flickering, hissing, a warmth that promised to far outlive the rapidly devoured fuel of a mere one-time stand.

He had wondered if they would “fit,” and they most certainly did. He had tasted their compatibility on the air the way a serpent rolls the flavor of is prey on its tongue, and Athene had not disappointed him with her ambrosia. He adored the way he could feel her steely musculature coiling and rippling under his grip; he reveled in the vibrations her voice made against his bones, how her gasping moans made his fur tingle as if with electricity. The luxuriant scent of their passionate sex flooded the clearing—painting every tree and seeping into the very earth like spilled red wine. Pheromones would stain this desecrated piece of Bright Moon for weeks. Her words—breathless, demanding, spoken from the mouth of Venus herself—brought a self-satisfied smirk to the white demon’s features. Every stanza of her poem, rhymes tripping over themselves in their hurry to escape between ecstatic groans, had Kershov’s pelvis slamming into her with increasing force. He had nearly reached his apex. A pinnacle of euphoria awaited him, and he had staved it off long enough. Smoldering coals glowed brighter . . . and a sound halfway between a purr and a snarl thrummed in his chest. His own voice grated from him in the bass rumbles of a nightmare monster formed entirely of lust: powerful and insatiable.

“If that is what you desire, Madame Athene . . . then that is what you shall receive.”

All at once, the glacial Czar gave Athene his most intimate embrace yet—teeth buried in her scruff to fill his mouth with her silken pelt—forelegs hoisting her ample hips up and her smooth spine flush with his abdomen—his male’s pride impaling her completely, the space between them utterly crushed, her dew-soaked blossom locked around the his throbbing girth. This moment marked the instant they were tied together—Kershov’s length so swollen he could not have pulled himself from the heaven hidden between Athene’s thighs if he wanted to. He shouted her name into her moon-pale fur, nuzzling roughly into her mane. Then he licked one her auds, tongue scraping against the outer satin shell, and spoke one command: “Fall.”

If this tacit order confused the brindled huntress, the alabaster gangster’s next move would enlighten her. He carefully shifted his weight to the left, one foreleg wrapped firmly about Athene’s flank, the other—closer to the earth—slipping forward to guide them both to their sides. His anatomy remained deliciously buried within Athene’s hungrily pressing walls—yet this did not stop him from artfully rotating his hips, grinding against her as they repositioned themselves, forcing her to experience wave after wave of ecstasy without break. Once they had both reposed into their bed of leaves—a tapestry already scuffed and strewn to chaos by their foreplay—Kershov once again twisted himself to improve his angle. With one giant forepaw pressed on Athene’s shoulder to keep her laying beneath him, he ducked under one of her hind limbs, turning himself to face his lover ventrum-to-ventrum. The bone-colored brute loomed above her, bottomless black eyes searing into her blissful face. Then he eagerly resumed his thrusts—timing them so they might climb to their climax as one.