The chase only grew more and more fantastic as time passed, driving Peyote further and further into being what his entire purpose was: to instill fear among the island herds. Beautifully textbook, the fear overcame the girl, who’d been perfectly isolated just for him. In his enjoyment of the moment, of her fright, Peyote completely forgot she was only supposed to be a means to an end. Only one thought pounded alongside his head and further encouraged his brutish, primal behavior.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The crashing waves and how far down he’d pushed her hopefully masked the pitiful cry that’d come from her lips and sent an excitable shiver down his spine. Even better, the distance between them was quickly shortening, and the eagerness drove Peyote to push more energy into his stride, taking her over even quicker. Without any grace he pushed his body into her, neck raised so it was his broad, muscled chest that connected with her hip and knocked her off-gait enough to hopefully turn her.

His breath hitched with a grunt, the air momentarily knocked out of his lungs at the contact, but he only sucked in a quick bit of air and kept on her, no time to focus on himself. He wanted her pointed at the open waters beyond, and he wanted to reach out and nip at wherever her skin was softest; he would add a hard pinch shortly after redirecting her if he could manage it, to hopefully make her want to get away from his bite and therefore drive her even more into the water.

If her frightful cry had been heard at all, or the thundering of their hooves as he overpowered her down the shoreline, Peyote hoped it would all be too late. Whoever was meant to come and rescue her (and he knew the Prairie was a very well-protected territory) would only come across emptiness and tracks, and her, long gone… stashed and hidden away, where he would have all the time alone with her and perhaps figure out just why she made him as greedy as she did.