"L...L..Let me by," Fenrir mocks, his voice dark and menacing within the recesses of Ivar's mind. The wolf begins to pace, his hackles rise on his back and saliva drips between his parted jowls. "Just a taste princess, a single bite on that pretty little neck," he growls and his lips part to show jagged yellowed teeth. He writhes inside of Ivar's inky hide, her sweet aroma drives the hunger within his body to a frenzied panic.

Ivar's whiskered lips tug into a wicked sneer and his dark eyes smolder with hunger and lust. He can smell her fear, it drips from her pores and it wafts around him. He revels in her fear and the tremble in her voice. His dark eyes run the length of her body, the delicate way her neck arches and the softness of her pale skin. "Don't be afraid, this won't hurt..." he growls, his dark eyes hungrily consume her. "He lied!" Fenrir yelps, it is going to hurt so much.

As he circles to her left side, his eyes gravitate to her supple hips and her fragrant scent of esterus. His nostrils quiver. He wants to feel her beneath him, but what fun would it be if he didn't toy with his dinner first. He pivots and draws himself to her side, aware of her movements to insure if she lashes out at him, he is ready. He only pauses briefly at her side long enough to reach his teeth to her crest and then to her poll, his teeth press into her delicate flesh.

"You look like a girl who has a taste for the finer things," he growls into her ears. Her skin is unmarked and prestine, unlike his. Scars run jagged across his inky hide, some deep and others shallow. His breath is hot on her neck as he traces the line of her crest to the hollow of her shoulder.

"Take her!" Fenrir growls, but Ivar pays him no heed. He enjoys his games. He wants to remind her why she doesn't go slinking through the night, but at-least she isn't alone anymore. Ivar is here to keep her company.