Alpine Lake dannedd wedi'u carthu

rolled a hit

So she does want to try him. Very well. She has made her choice, and she will pay for it dearly. Before he could strike--perhaps thinking himself a little too much of a match for her--she does instead, latching onto his muzzle with fangs of flame. It stings as she bites down, and he tastes the blood that flows in tiny rivulets from the wound, even as he snarls and rips himself backward, out of her grasp.

Gilded muzzle now painted crimson, a savage growl bubbles in his throat, his tail thrashing to and fro behind him. How dare she. To lay jaws or paws on a king or prince was instant death; that Ioan had escaped this punishment would haunt him forever. But he will not let this injustice slide. No, the woman wanted blood, and blood she will get--not his, but her own.

Muscles coiled, Llewellyn powers up before launching himself at her, a golden blur through the air. He rams into her, taking the nape of her neck in his teeth and squeezing, hard. As he does so, he pushes his body against her, hooking one foreleg over her back to try and knock her over. It resembles, in a way, the mating dance, but utterly more savage, less beautiful. He savors the flow of her blood over his tongue, lips curving in a wicked smile even as he still has hold of her.

He is bigger than her, and stronger, too. She must fall soon; she surely cannot hold up under his weight for much longer.