Desert

What was it about mares that had little to no interest in him? For some reason the old wolf found himself drawn to them with a violent need that nearly trumped the need for blood in his veins or air in his lungs. There was something ingrained deep within him that welcomed the challenge that a stubborn mare provided; something that called to him.

Like a moth to a flame he is desperate to cling to them, to cling to her.

Unlike the Calypso he once knew, who might have met his misstep with a joyful laugh and affectionate nip; the girl that he stumbles past meets him with fire. ’You fucking watch it!’ she snaps as she follows in the wake of his spraying hooves. A squeal of surprise rips from his lungs as her blunt teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh covering the underside of his flank. Instinctively, he tucks his cream and caramel tail against his hip as thick muscles coil and release in an effort to drive him away from the reach of her vicious teeth. She was playing dirty…. And he liked it.

The hammering of his heart pounds above the rhythmic crash of the ocean waves as he tucks his proud neck to allow a single emerald eye to fix upon the dunskin pearl. The snarling beast gleams, its golden eyes bright and fixed behind his intense gaze as she turns away from his retreating figure. ’I will take my leave beast!’ the solidarity of those words is enough to pivot his large frame into a tight circle. A graveled scoff vocalizes from deep within his breast as he thrusts his powerful hooves into an exaggerated trot. Thick muscles ripple beneath his mahogany skin as the stallion trails in her wake, determined to not let her flee his reach for a second time in this lifetime.

She pivots away from his progression, angling her agile body towards the sea. Rougaru prepares himself to launch into the surf on her heels, the metallic tang of his blood strong on the air. Her sweet, estrogen filled scent swirls around him, burning through his body and filling it and the wolf with determination and adrenaline. Already the beast had made his mind up to have her and he was not willing to take no for an answer regardless of how much she kicked and screamed against him.

However before he can even put such pleasurable plans into motion, the tension between them changes with dramatic quickness. Concern and confusion fills his dark gaze as the pale faced woman lets out a low groan and tumbles forward onto her knees. Dark ears press forward as he slows his pursuant gait and drops his muzzle towards her. ”Calypso?” he murmurs, the question less demanding and domineering than it had been moments ago. He may be ruthless in his pursuit but even the wolf had a soft spot for a damsel in distress. Not that he would not use it to his advantage of course.

Whiskered lips trail inches over her silken flesh, sniffing her skin for any sign of broken bones or intensive bleeding that his keen nostrils (as much as the beast scoffed at the idea) might have missed. Aside from the sweet perfume of fall and the tang of sweat that plasters her chocolate brown locks against her long neck, he finds nothing. No reason for her to crumble to the earth or groan in pain. No reason why she would fall into a state of unconsciousness. Again he resists the urge to curse the red stallion’s painted son for whatever dangers he had allowed Calypso to fall into. If he had just put his hoof down and made her stay put in Paradise maybe this would not have happened. Grant it, he had walked away from the jungle and the herd he had collected there but still…. He would not be standing over her still form confused and unsure of what to do.

”Keep her!” the beast snarls, and the chocolate stallion acquiesce the request without further consideration or debate. Whether she liked it or not, he would keep her safe this time.

Possessively he marks her shoulder, savoring the long dormant flavor of her skin upon his tongue. Greedily he drinks in her unconscious figure, admiring the curve and contours of her face that had moments ago been twisted and hidden by rage and disgust. ”You are safe here.” he breathes, stepping protectively over her sprawled form, sheltering her from the sun’s rays as he could with the shadow of his broad form. He told himself it was to help her, told himself and the beast that his position was meant to give her a chance to recover. Yet deep down, he and the wolf both know that it is his possessiveness and determination that keeps him above her. That keeps her unable to flee except by his will. Calypso would be his again even if he had to make her hate him first.