The appearance of another causes her to prickle.  Her pale eyes have a dangerous glint as they sweep upwards towards the oncoming wolf, and she worries for a split second that it's someone like Colt or Raven, and she'll have to explain herself.  

It isn't.  It's some stranger.  She doesn't recognize him by scent or appearance and he does not offer his name.  She's so drunk at this point that it might not click anyway; Niamh had only mentioned him once in passing and she was yet to spend much time with Ambrose.  Her paw moves protectively over one of the few apples she has left.  

Suit yourself.  The words aren't exactly welcoming, but with a sweep of her foreleg she moves both herself and her apples to make room for this other man.  What brings you out this way?

If she were sober, she might have remembered Niamh's warning about her brother Bruges and his mushrooms.  She might have even remembered saying that she absolutely wouldn't do anything like that ever, yup right.  Good news for Bruges was that she was drunk as fuck, because she still was trying to find out what her limit was and she'd passed that some time ago.  Oops.

Mmmno, she says with a definitive shake of her head, I don' deal with plants like that, usually.  But what good was she if she didn't know what they did?  Are they somethin' like these?  She takes one of the apples from between her forelegs and smacks it in the stranger's direction.  She's definitely more intrigued than she lets on because despite her apple impairment, she still hasn't quite forgotten how it feels to rip someone's throat out.  Literally.

Better than apples?  She offers him a skeptical look, unsure if she can believe him.  She's still so terribly young and naive; she hasn't experienced most of adulthood's finest treasures, but like many other girls her age she believes she's seen it all.

She watches him bend to the earth (already half-impaired, her gaze lingers a beat too long on his legs that stretch on for miles, the moonlight in his dark pelt.  When he faces away from her, for a moment she thinks that he could be Raven.  Her chest tightens for a moment before she concentrates on the roots pulled from the ground.

There was no way  she was ready for whatever this was about to do to her.  She was nervous, but she wasn't about to bitch out in front of this (kind of really attractive) guy.  After he's eaten his share and settled down, he asks her if she's game.

Of course she is.  I'm down for anything, baby, she quips before she grabs the mushrooms and tries to mimic how this strange boy had taken them.  They're earthy and malleable, they fall apart in her mouth easily much to her distaste.  He's right, they're not very good.  She chases them down with an apple.

For a while she felt nothing, and then she was queasy; the world around her seemed to turn (although that was from the alcohol setting in).  But because thirty minutes is a long time and because these are wolves, it didn't take long for her to notice something.

The moonlight was somehow both sharper and more diffused.  It cut the paper moon of the dark stranger's eyes into shards.  It blanketed him in a cloak of moonbeams.  Oh, she breathed silently, taking in the rich blues of the world around her, Wow.  And then all she could do was smile.

As he stared at her, she could see the white part of his chest yawn and open into a pale void.  She shouldn't believe him but she does, because how could someone so charming and alluring have anything but the purest intentions?

And even if he doesn't, a small voice asserts from somewhere far away, at least he isn't afraid to touch you.  The physical nearness of this boy made her feel both wanted and valued, and those were so scarce she'd take what she could get.  Most often it was Raven who made her feel those things, but it hurt coming from Raven right now.  Ceara still wasn't over her, and she didn't know if she'd ever be.

She closes her eyes as he brushes the spot between them, and as he pulls back she moves to rest her ear in the hollow of his throat.  She can hear his lifeblood.

She is close enough she can taste it.  She could catch him off guard, clamp her fangs around his throat and let leak like a waterfall.  

It's enough to nearly send her into a panic.  She tenses, then pulls back to concentrate on anything but that.  There are a million questions she wants to ask him, but her tongue feels heavy in her mouth so she opts to explore what length of his buttersoft body is available to her with her nose.  When she moves the fur between his shoulders she can see the blue-brown undertones to it.  His pelt shimmered with every shade of the galaxies in the night sky.  You're phenomenal.

The distraction worked.  She was able to (lose) focus by parting his furs and listening to the sounds loosed from his lips.  The more sounds he made the more she felt powerful; to have such a fine and handsome young man melt beneath her was something she did not know she had desired until now.

He moved slowly and touched her again, and she couldn't help the way she was lit aflame by it.  He surprised her again by making a move, first with a kiss and then by teasing the paper thin edge of her ear.  

The fur along her spine rippled to life, the canine version of goosebumps.  She emit a pitched whine, then a breathy moan.  She leaned against the mushroom-dealing boy and watched as her flametouched pelt encompassed the darkness of his.  They were beautiful, intermingled like this, and she wished that she could stop time altogether and stay here where she felt mystical and prized.

She turned her head and found the bulb of his ear with her teeth, then traced her nose down the side of his neck. She knew that soon would come the part where he teased her and fed her flame, only to walk off and leave her wanting... but until then, she would devour whatever she could.

Bruges is quite lucky that while she lingers near his throat that she knows nothing of this bet he made with his brother.  She's come to enjoy Ambrose and his company (though it's still much too early to see him as a true romantic interest), and she does not want to admit while she is still hung up on Raven that he is as handsome as the man before her.  One day, he might be able to break her heart just like everyone else that has handled it.

Pride swells inside her as she looses the desire from his lips.  She wants to tease him and make him wait but it has been a long time since anyone has even truly looked at her this way (if they ever have) that instead she goads, Take me.  Come morning she likely wouldn't remember it enough to regret it. 

He didn't run away, or confess at the last moment that he actually had a secret lover back home he was totally head over heels for.  No, it was her he was interested in.  The stranger did not wait to mount her and she held her breath in anticipation, releasing it as he took her maidenhead.

She'd never have an experience like this again.  Not only was it her first time, each sensation was heightened by the drugs.  Her lover was careful and attentive.  Every bit of fear and apprehension melted from her as their bodies tangled together.

Once they had finished she lay exhausted and breathless on the ground next to him.  Blanketed by tiredness and utterly spent, she blinked her heavy eyes at him.

I never got your name, she murmurs, pulling close enough to rest the crown of her head under his chin as she thought about whether or not it'd be more beneficial to stay put or head on home.

She thinks the game is innocent in the wake of all that has happened.  Fire, she begins slowly as she feels her high becoming tapered and paper thin, is what my family nicknamed me.

She traces his jaw with her nose and plants a playful but halfhearted nibble at the corner where his beautiful bone structure meets the cup of his ear.  But, I go by Ceara.  She was taken more seriously that way.  

Ceara wouldn't press him for his name.  She was too tired to put up much of a fight, anyhow.