Wild Berry Meadow [m] feelin' herself

the meadow stretched wide before him, a sea of swaying grasses touched with the soft blush of early dawn. roan stood at its edge, his dark frame etched sharply against the golden hues of the horizon. he had left maeve somewhere—he wasn’t sure where anymore, nor did he linger on the thought. she was capable, and he wasn’t the type to tether himself too tightly to anything or anyone.

his paws pressed into the damp earth as he stepped forward, the morning dew clinging to his fur like tiny crystals. the air was cool, biting just enough to keep him sharp, his breath curling in soft clouds before him. the meadow was quiet, save for the occasional chirp of a waking bird, and roan’s amber eyes scanned the expanse with a calculated sort of interest.

solitude had its charm, but it also left space for thoughts to fester. he shook his head, dismissing the flicker of memories that threatened to surface. this wasn’t the place for that. this was a place for movement, for purpose. he didn’t know what he was searching for, but he’d find it—or let it find him.

this is a man.

a giant carved from fresh woods. she did not hide the way that one good eye soaked in his presence like it was fresh water in a desert. she did not hide herself from him.

she sought his attention. a shake of her golden coat to cast off the morning dew. she allowed her strides to become strong, cutting through the meadow as if she knew right where to go.

she has not decided yet if she wanted to challenge his strength or — neverminded that.

roan watched her approach, his gaze steady and unyielding, like stone against the shifting breeze. he said nothing at first, his silence heavier than words. the flick of his ear was the only acknowledgment of her presence as she closed the distance.

when he finally spoke, his voice was low, a rumble that barely disturbed the meadow's quiet. what do you want? the question was direct, unadorned, a test of intent as much as an invitation. he stood firm, robust and unshaken, the embodiment of stoic resolve.

his voice, a rolling thing like distant summer thunder.

only it was freezing out. the cold air nipped at every thin-furred spot and tingled her nose.

she was always a woman who had wanted too much and yet had wanted for nothing. everything given to her, even when it felt as if she did not deserve it.

what did she want?

thinking about it still. she finally voiced in a direct manner. head lifted slightly, but only so she might peer at him better. you?

the brute had no clue what she referred to. it? what was it? had they fucked and he didn't remember? shit, wouldn't that be embarrassing. roan turned to look at the shimmering blonde.

it? he dared to ask more. more. more. give me more. it rang, thrummed, like the thunder in the flats.

she had done something, it seemed.

her good eye looked long and hard upon his features. enjoyed whatever accidental wire she had snapped in his brain. she played something now — but neither of them knew the game or the rules, it seemed.

you.

a roll of toned shoulders, a higher lift of her head.

she had one eye. marred by battle? an interesting feature to deduce a pretty face. roan let out a huff, turning to face her this time. if she wanted his attention, fine. he could spare it.

she smelt of pack. thick, hefting pack. roan let his nose curl, nostrils flaring.

ain't nothin' here. he grunted. this time he turned, but didn't leave her. no, she was far too pretty to be left alone here. maybe they did fuck— he wouldn't be surprised.

humble?

she dared to move closer. just out of reach, but able to show off any finer details upon her.

i don't agree. she decided with a snort. she decided that even if he was perhaps playing humble, she did not enjoy what felt like rejection.

—he resisted the urge to tsk, shaking his head. roan didn't flaunt himself as some dangerous bachelor, though the woman had begun to make him feel like it. he was a rogue on the outskirts, meant for damnation, yet she kept insisting on holding him hostage with her singular eye.

she moved closer. careful, woman. roan was mean. staggering with coiled rage beneath his mahogany skin. a bite that didn't care about sex.

he took a cautious look around them. where's your pack?

he was avoidant. it burned her up, starting at her toes and moving through her limbs to a core.

are you scared that they will show up?

she taunted now, she sought to poke and prod each button he might have. she wished to know if his answer would be with words or with teeth.

she had a flare about her. that much he could acknowledge. women were good in these ways. something to stir up the staccato in his life.

he chuffed, shaking his head. ain't scared. he wasn't. but it was the thought of stirring shit at borders that reminded him of a life he didn't want.

he wasn't pack material. never would be.

and she was, jailbait, that's what'y'are.

she did not know this term he called her now, but she burst with laughter deep and haunting. perhaps it was the simple idea of her being jail-anything.

she wanted freedom.

she wanted wild things.

i should be there, with my pack. i should be ascending. she moved and put herself in a dangerous spot. she was within his reach now. keenly aware that she would not stand against him in a true test of might.

instead i'm here with you, looking for ferality and being disappointed.

what did the woman want?

she was sending him a signal. a signal. a loud one. it did not go unignored, nor would he ask permission. he stood, seeking to push the woman over with a jerk of his head to the grasses below. if she fell, he'd climb atop of her, staring down at the golden furs.

fuckin' disappointment, his jaw clenched, mocking, teeth grit together as his warm body hovered. tired 'y women with loud mouths.

the ground held her, now.

in that moment, she could only hear her own breathing. became keenly aware that she had found trouble just as she had kept looking for.

was it irony to be silent now? only breathing, only wondering what's next?

her teeth reached for one of his limbs. not seeking damage outright, only seeking to grapple.

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now the bitch is quiet. sullied irony washes over him. a part of him likes if she had squirmed, mewled in protest.

her teeth clenched his wrist, to hold on, as if the force of his own body against her own would crush her— it would. he could make it so, with a rut of his hips.

a fucking monster he was, abdomen striking a flame, burning, etching, into the stream of his veins. he could feel the pulse of her, the vibration of her shuddering body. it had the beast yearning for more, but that's it— roan does not yearn.

the beast came down with a rumble atop of her. ferality. the word pulsed just as much as his body had. his teeth wrapped the perfect curls of her blonde furs in his jaw, threatening to clamp over the sensitive skin. mine.

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time skipping some <3

what?

it was the only thing she could think of in the moments that followed. what had she done, what would she do, what might follow.

what, what, what.

his weight is a crushing stone of reality upon her. she did not know if her teeth upon his wrist eventually break the skin. eventually there is not much of anything in her mind. no more questions, no more wondering. tangled up in a web of emotions that she could not decipher.

silence.

inside and out.

there is only him and her. there is no knowing where one begins and another ends. it might have sounded romantic, but it was what she had said.

ferality.

in the aftermath, she wonders which one of them will leave first. him, a thought in the back of her mind. maybe she stays rooted perfectly still just to be right in that thought.

his breath came slow and uneven, like a beast settling after the chase. the roan shifted, his weight still a commanding presence, though there was something unspoken in the way he lingered—something that bordered on cruelty, or perhaps apathy, but was too calculated to be either.

he propped himself up just enough to meet her gaze, his face shadowed, his eyes bearing a smirk that his mouth did not.

i'm no pack animal. he muttered, his voice gravel and smoke, heavy and dismissive. his paws ghosted over the line of her jaw, but there was no tenderness in the gesture.

his tone was casual, but the words coiled tight around her like a chain, binding her in their blunt, unyielding truth. he leaned closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of him, and yet his eyes held a distance that was unbridgeable.

you wanted this, he murmured, the accusation slipping from his lips like a blade. don't act like you didn't know what you were getting.

then, without ceremony, he pushed himself up, the cold absence of him settling in the space where his weight had been moments before. his broad frame disappearing into the night, leaving behind only the weight of his presence and the faint scent of earth and blood on the air.