Firefly Glen The Witching Hour

@Abbadon

Tzila had indeed put herself right in this very situation. Backed into a dangerous corner, with so many possibilities of what could go wrong. But, clever as she was, it had been entirely intentional. From the moment she met this ghostly wolf, she could smell the fresh blood on him. Rumors in the pack, when she was around, circulated from Valour's experience with the man. It did not deter her. Did not make her squeamish or in the least bit afraid. She had wanted this.

Carefully, she angled her neck down so his snapping teeth clipped the skin of her jaw, rather than the delicate expanse of her neck where the more crucial life supplying veins and arteries lay. Nicking one of those by accident would have her bleeding out in seconds. And neither of them wanted that. As her flesh split, spewing rivulets of crimson to weep between his fangs, the Shadow Queen did not whimper or cry out in pain. Rather, she let out a drawn out, sweetened hiss between clenched teeth.

At his shoulders, her toes flexed, the sharpened nails pressing down against his skin. The pale ear she had been nosing so delicately moments ago, she now took in her mouth. Her voice rolled forth in a low, slightly amused rumble. If Abbadon thought only her blood would flow today, then he was sorely mistaken. Driven by heated curiosity and the want to see how he'd react to the very same treatment, she bit down, easily creating a wound near the tip. She would taste him, too.