As the two creatures of violence clash together, Xiomara takes it willingly: more so than a lover’s embrace. The heat between their touch, the feel of his blunt teeth grasping onto her flesh, the mare’s control spirals free from her grasp and as she yanks her head away (hopefully with flesh still clamped between her teeth) she can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from deep within her chest. As she opens her jaws again, the sound echoes around them, but she does not pull away. Instead, the mare digs in her hind hooves to continue thrusting forward. To keep herself too firmly in his space for him to do anything but defend himself. As her front hooves return to the ground, they only touch the cold rock and earth briefly before raising again, allowing enough space to finally gape between them so that she can strike out with powerful feathered front legs.


Xiomara aims for the stallion’s chest, his shoulder, his vulnerable legs; whatever she is presented with and what might do damage before she is eventually returned to the ground. It isn’t enough though. She wants more. To smell his blood in the air, to see it splashed across the ground, and to have it painted across her own scarred blue skin. The mare reaches for him again, her teeth grabbing for the tender flesh of his cheek or even his ear. Wanting to rip it from his body like a prized possession; a trophy made of his hide.


“Aren’t you going to play with me?” Xiomara practically purred to the stallion as her pale pink muzzle now dripped with his blood. Her tone filled with the same sultry sound that might be mistaken for the lust of the season, when in truth, it was her lust for his blood. “I surely thought you would be trying by now.” The warrioress could feel the sting of Fell’s retaliation strikes, had known the beast was doing more than just playing with her. But the smile she wore, and the glint of desire in Xiomara’s eyes begged for more from the black beast and she couldn’t help but bait him into her chaos.