Moonspear champagne

He again sought to bridge the gap between them, which took him no effort at all given the path their forms had cut. An ear turned backward as he assaulted her with playful nips, and his low growl certainly made her want to reconsider leaving at all—she hadn't truly desired to—but would that be all it took for him, to stop her, Moonspear's warrior princess? No, that was not the main issue here, was it? It was the fact that Alya had perceived him as potentially flirting with other women, and she would know such a thing, wouldn't she? Flirting was her own specialty and weapon of choice.

Hydra wanted to lay some sort of possessive claim to Dirge, but if he were making a fool out of her before everyone, how could she?

She wheeled herself in front of him, parrying his nips to her flank with a deflecting click of her own teeth. The heat of the moment, the fog, the warmth, whatever was in the air—she acknowledged it as she looked to him. Hydra burned in various ways, she moved to press near to him, drawing close to his ear. What is it that you want? came her direct question—because if it was not her, if it was whatever he could land his teeth on, she would let it be, let it go. But if it was her? Well, it was not something she had the answer to, here and now.