Wapun Meadow broken fingernails

The pale female did not seem to be bothered by his presence. The devil safely assumed that it was because she did not know how closely he lurked behind her. A sickening rasp exited his lips as he parted his mouth and drew a salmon-colored tongue along the dark hairs of his muzzle. A swatch of drool landed in the snow, tinted pink from his previous endeavor. Still, Ithrik hungered. The killer would hunger until he had rasped his final breath; nothing would ever be more evident.

Picking his pace up, the devil closed in on his mark. With soot limbs, Ithrik rose and leaped – his aim was to strike against her shoulder. If he was successful, he would sink his fangs into her scruff and rip her through the snow.

Ithrik always thought that blood against a pallid coat was a stunning color.