Heron Lake Plateau She never picked up the phone.

Damn he was gonna get himself killed.  “Well, I’d like to see a bloke try,” his voice contradicted the logic that, for once, had surfaced in that meat-head of his. “Can’t keel ova- gotta make sure that gal is in these parts.” But how would he get away with doing it? Especially without everyone in this pack knowin’ he wasn’t all in tryin’ ta be in their bidness? “Only place everything’s nothin’ but sunshine, is home” he reminded himself. As much as he missed it, fighting off all them damn dingoes wasn’t worth it. Snarky bastard came atcha while you was shootin’ a streamer, and wouldn’t let up. He’d killed enough of em to sub em in for sheep when he was tryin to nod off. 

Trotting through the Wilds, and only after being led on a goose chase to find either of the pair, his eye was mainly on the prize of the sheila. The bugger that wed her could amount to nothin’, and Stormy wasn’t wastin time chasing the arse of something that hadn’t mattered much. She, however, this lil’ Camilia, or Camilla, one of the names he had been told, was around, and more often than not, the same was still on the run from her mate. Luckily enough, Storm found the instructions and hints better stuck in his head than the dame’s name - he licked on to the words and scents of the husband, swiveled and went the opposite direction.

Thats how he wound up here. 
Peering jade eyes up that intimidating ass mountain, the shark sheathed aussie wrinkled his brow. Atleast he got this damn far - hopefully he was right. 

Rugged as he was however, the infamous broad-bounty hunter had to throw on his charming piece to try and swindle this babe from the idiot that nabbed her, first. Maybe then, he’d get paid, and even more maybe, get permission from the Company to keep this catch as his own wife. 

Sitting himself down down a few meters from the border, he worked up his game plan. He had to get in and get out as quick as possible, and try to avoid showing his arse too much, or he’d get offed for it. Either that, other he’d spook the gal, and plan would remain ruined. 

A scarred crown threw back a howl, requesting either that @Camilla, or Camilia might respond to, or any of the folks of the Caldera.

Storm would have to possibly join, just to get closer to this target.

She wasn't far when the call sounded, and it sent a frigidity deeper than the season's loudest, coldest gale through her entire body. The woman stood in the reeds, fresh from her flight away from the agitated wolves maybe an hour prior, when she heard it. A call summoning her by name — this deep voice, one she did not know but sounded terrifyingly familiar for its desire and its power.

The woman did not want to meet the fate that the call heralded, but she was well trained. The Company had done amazing things to her psyche — and, feeling as though she was merely a burden here on the plateau where nobody understood her, nobody liked her, and with only Phox to tie her here — she knew she had to answer that call. So, stiffly and without any semblance of pride, she began to drag her heels as she marched to the borders.

Once she was nearer, she spotted the burly man but did not approach him. The border of the pack's claim lay between the two of them — more or less, a 'no mans land' that she dared not cross over. A part of her hoped he would try; this massive grey thing, likely fresh from a meeting with someone of the Company. If he tried then the warriors would come and they would catch him, maybe kill him — she would be safe.

Or, they would fail. He looked strong enough, healthy enough, to take a few of them down on the way. All these things Camilla thought of but she did not say aloud; she watched him with her body sagging and crescent-shaped in defeat, for her mind returned to the same thought over and over: she had to leave, and he was here to take her.

Holy shit, “Well buck me backwards,” the slanted toned of the Aussie scaffolded between the pair. He wasn’t prepared in the slightest for her to show, but he wasn’t gonna let the opportunity go to waste. Swiftly bringing himself to a stand, a muscled body greeted the dame, thick muscles of steel unraveling under a coat of bluegrey black coal and choicy ivory. But those jade eyes were what lay on that svelt body of hers, and it gave him nothing but relief her coming so close so unwillingly. Goddamn, he couldn’t wait to get to work on her-

“Ain’t you just the most darlin dime I’d ever laid my coins on,” he grinned a bit at the dark lass. “You look like you’ve packed up and readied for that road ahead; well let’s go, sweet ‘art. Got a gift for ya once we git goin’.” A wink daringly slid her way as he prepared himself to take his luck and bring it with him. He didn’t know what the dude’s names were, and while that was the point, he knew how to find them. And maybe, if he was good and quick, maybe, if she made it back and didn’t get her arse snatched up, maybe, she’d like her gift. So much could happen -that’s why he had to be quick.

His voice was deep and powerful, and she was lured back to those days of contant attention from one husband or another; as tarnished as she was, Camilla could still recall the good moments just as well as the bad. They were not as common, which made them precious. Although this stranger was just that - a stranger - and his words sounded so very different from what she was used to. There was no denying that she saw him for the threat that he was. Whether this man was a part of the Company or just an envoy for them, Camilla was too afraid to act.

And as he spoke, she was forced to listen. She couldn't leave now that she had his attention. He couldn't cross the border and drag her off, much as she suspected he wanted to.

When he demanded - in an almost suave manner - that she pack up and leave with him, she took a half-step towards him before catching herself. Phox had saved her from this moment. She'd been so confused by the boy at first, but had come to appreciate his kind nature and the easy manner of his attention. It would be hard for her to give that up. Camilla realized as she stood there among the reeds, so near to being lost again, that she didn't want to.

N.. no, she mostly sighed, but as she breathed the sound she was already stepping closer to the border, more and more appearing like a frightened little doe rather than the wolf that she was. Had she ever, really, been a wolf? No wolf would ever put themselves in to harms way like this, and the closer she got the more meek she felt, the more useless, slowly becoming her old victimized self — but before she was across the border she stopped again, and called out: N-no! I — I have a husban here, I...

Oh, but, she knew Phox wasn't really her's; Towhee had made that perfectly clear, and the sentiment died as she breathed it to life.

He stopped as soon as he heard that ‘no’ leave her lips. Something in him, something much darker than the top of his own blue-black pelt, rose and reared a head full of venomous teeth. Snaking violently up his throat, it choked the charm from his voice, and the question became much less open-minded as some thought it would be. It came out low, ragged, and the ‘r’ curled a bit of a growl that he couldn’t fathom whether it was intentional or accidental. But what he did know, is that if he looked at her, his mind would blank as he would lunge foolishly though those pack borders, snatch her up, and relish her screams as he tore her apart. He would get gunned down by her little mates, aye, but he wouldn’t care. 

“Pardon?”

He didn’t take ‘no’ too well.
Too many of those going around, nowadays. 
Too many of those coming out of Gwen’s mouth. 

A scarred dome looked over a burly shoulder, too opposes angle to see her fully. Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t. Would give her enough time to enjoy the last seconds of her life before she ended up like Julie.

I misread, so I edited, derp.

She knew it was wrong even as the words fell from her lips - no, not wrong -- she knew he wouldn't take it well, that it was an error. That her husband didn't matter, her ties here didn't matter. Phox didn't matter. 

The tone of his voice was one she knew well; it was a warning, that sound. Really, any sound that came from a man such as himself was enough to send Camilla crawling out of her skin. She did not want to invite danger to the Redhawks, certainly did not want Phox to be harmed -- and the more she stood there and really thought about it, the more she knew the answer to her problem.

She had to go with him. The chill in his gaze had her cowed; she stared at the dirt for a long moment and then enunciated for him: I won't go, because really, who did he think he was? And as she lifted her attention to meet his eyes, her own gaze flashed with loathing. I won't.

Goddamnit, he could taste that nearness to the finish line as if it was right on his fucking lips. The difference between his fangs was the difference between his mindsets. He could nibble with lust at the base of your ear, or he could rip the damn thing off and chew it for a snack. But it seemed the sheila wasn’t having that nibble going down, tonight. Nope. She wanted the ever-living-shit beat out of her,

and lucky for her, he was right in that mood. 

Oi, and she sealed the fuckin’ deal as she begged him for it in her eyes. 

So as he had turned to see if she was serious, and when she had confirmed her absolute denial, he indulged in her wish for death. 

A man of muscle never ever moved fast, but they moved with power. Thrusting strong hinds into malleable loam and flecks of slab rock, the Aussie pushed himself forward with the ease of a starved shark. He had his target before him, and what mattered was very little as she was right there. 

Maws that had ended the ignorance and and arrogance of so many before her opened once more to deliver degredation and damnation to any they fell judgement upon, as hulkish body reared to bear a mallet of weight upon the svelte form of the wench. 

She would know never to deny him again, or she would know nothing at all, anymore.

He came for her within moments, her refusal barely parsing in the air. A wrath that she was familiar with for its feral quality, harkening back to her days within the Company; she shrieked, or started to gasp and scream, but he was set upon her too quickly and the sound died in her throat. He came right at her and she was dropped to the dirt, and whether he brandished his teeth or merely threw his substantial weight around, she was correcting herself; sickle-tailed and tiny beneath him, crushed by him, nothing, nothing — she was nothing.

Camilla would have spoken if she was able, but instead a long whine penetrated the air when she managed to gasp enough of it, carried through the borderlands and across the plateau - but it was for him, a pleading tone, meant to assuage the beast of his ire and recant all that she had said. Her eyes were wide with fear as she stared at him, and her body said - I'll go, I'll go, you win, please don't hurt me!

The tide had turned so swift it would have left the weak reeling, belly up in the world he straddled. A world between indescribable indomination, and selfishness. And bordered by such mania of being unable to be told no by a woman, Gwen had done this to him. And as she had done this to him, he would bestow the same pain across the world of wenches who had such nerve to tell him ‘no’. 

He had engulfed her in a hug of discipline, of unholy and painful punishment for her sin, of her betrayal to her purpose, and in a fleeting moment of silence between the wrath and the eye of the storm, he felt as though he was right in doing his job. That this was how things were meant to be. And in that cry that flew fearful and flavorful in the air between them, Storm had never felt so right in his life. Gwen could have had a good man...

but where was good, now? 
It was too late for ‘good’. There was only his way. His way, and The Rule of The Company. 

Once those tones of pierced pride and pain ebbed off their echo around them, he felt that leash snap back against his own throat. Camilla wasn’t to be killed. Not yet. He hadn’t claimed her yet - the Company hadn’t issued their blessing yet. 

So he released his grip grip from the back of her neck, instead choosing to keep close to the now subdued woman. She would learn, and if she wouldn’t, she would endure yet another reminder of how close he could drag her to the edge of life and death so quickly. 
Salivating lips, harsh and hot, rained a promise so intimate and sure against her flattened ears, so close Storm could almost feel his words register in her mind, himself. 

“Tell me no, again, and I will crush your fucking skull.” 

Standing over her folded body for a couple of seconds more, he peeled himself away from her to recollect his bearings of the place. Damn, he hoped the wolves here wouldn’t come running from her loud arse. 

Bloody hell, it was silent. But the quicker they got out, the better. To make sure they were clear for the trails ahead, he would scout them out before bringing her. She had just gotten the fright of her life; should she run off, it would be much worse than what just happened. 

“Park ya arse right here. I’ll be back for ya in a in a skip.”

 And like that, he loped off back into the woods to make sure they would be good to go as clean as if they hadn’t been there, at all.