The Sunspire the world was on fire

She watched him as he slithered up to her, the prowl of his steps flexing the muscle of his bold frame, ensuring the she-wolf’s thoughts of any other certainly flittered away. She swallowed, her lips quirking up in alluring amusement as his low growl reverberated through her very being, causing the fire of her skin to scorch. Her time was achingly close, and she felt torn in that moment—could she hide her scent from the males of Diaspora? Stigmata… Thorn. Even Mahler? More importantly, did she want to?

The graze of the iron wraith’s form against her own stirred her lips to curl upward even more, and tilting her muzzle upward, the she-wolf allowed him viable access to her throat—subservience to him in the most intimate manner, and an eager invitation for his touch.