Lion Head Mesa II

He had taken in the grayscale girl—wholly, gleefully. And, yet, the white witch remained at the forefront of his mind.

This brought the dark man to the base of the mesa, his head tilted up, howling for @Medusa.

And family. And anyone else who was responsible for her future;

He didn't care. He was ready to win her over.

The ruddy flat-topped mountain was not much to look at, but if his lover was within, he would travel as much as he needed to.

And then he howled again.

“Seize him.”

With all the flame of a divine fury, Semer-wati released the fleet of mazoi upon the crooning man, intending to trammel the fool if he did not first flee.

You remember all that shit about "come what may" and "ready to win her over"?

It turned out Vasya's sense of self-preservation far outweighed any chivalrous impulses to sweep the witch off her paws and carry her away.

Пиздец, he muttered as the warriors of the mesa came charging his way.

Not worth it, he thought, turning tail and heading south. Hopefully, he'd pick up enough speed to leave them in the dust, though he braced himself to feel their breath on his hocks.

Not worth it at all.

Soldiers and hunters poured from the palace depths, the yard below churning with the chaos of dust and shouting men.

The king sat smirking high upon his gilded seat as his hounds thundered up a sandstorm in pursuit of the fox. Soon would come the day that this splendor of snarls and snapping tails would be shared with his divine sons, and rogues like this one would be made firm examples in their education.

But it was not enough for Rashepses to sit still as a witness, his own blood invigorated with the adrenaline of the race. Vaulting from the parapets, Semer-wati took the fields, onyx cloak tapering as he cut down relentless leagues between he and his men, his own howls adding to the keening of mazoi. Hordes of bobbing jaws evolved from nearing breaths to snaps at their fugitive’s fleeting hocks.

Seize him.

Her patrol took her around the borders in hidden crevices of the mesa. A watchdog that waited like a serpent before snitching back to the palace of a presence.

Legend struck out the left from one of the many structures out in front of the intruder to not attack, no, but trip him.

Notworthitnotworthitnotworthit

And yet, here he was, facing the consequences of his own stupid, horny actions—though it seemed as if Vasya would be able to get away from these bloodthirsty savages.

That hope died when a flash of dark pelt burst suddenly into his path, and in trying to avoid this new onslaught, he lost both momentum and speed and began to scramble for purchase against the rocky soil.

Ah, fuck. 

What did they want with him? Couldn't a guy make a house call around here?

Suddenly the jackal burst through the throng, not thirty paces from where Legend had delayed the invader. He came out gleaming in the sunshine, pure black with clouds of steamy vapor spurting from his nostrils.

“Circle him!” He made the command in egyptian and in a fleeting instant the mazoi were weaving their impassable ouroboros of muscle and teeth. He slowed, tail signaling high over hips and heavy feet passing through the fray into the makeshift arena so he could look upon the sharp dark face of the sinner.

“What say you, gentleman? Shall we strip the varlet of his manhood right here?” Semer-wati raised amid throaty affirmations. His own teeth gnashed with a laugh as he postured and eyed the man, amusement and cruelty mottling his face. His arm jolted forward, aiming to pin the beast against the dirt with a paw to the throat.

“You were so eager to speak before. Why should a king free a scoundrel coming to his pack, calling for his women? Plead your case.”

How blessed this stranger was to be struck by the lightning hands of one of their gods. Did he know? Did he know this? Did he know what he'd done to have been so close to the god? Their god spoke with burning words, and she felt all of them seep into the bed of her skin. Only her god in Senmut had struck deeper, but it still singed.

The invader was circled, and in the midst of rumbling steps, the mink morphed into the shadows of figures; though, they were unneeded when the king had instead her own quick feet. Feral laughter boiled from her lips from the excitement of arousal, of anxiety. Low headed, and a violently swishing tail. Big, squeaky laughs from an otherwise tiny mouth with even smaller teeth.

Get 'em! Get 'em! Get 'em! The kings women! The kings women! How dare he! How dare he!