Phoenix Maplewood bad moon rising

A shiver ran through her as he touched her, raising every hair on her pelt. She swallowed, watching his every move, though her neck had began to ache, from its twisted position. His words made no sense to her, and neither did the name, a savage moniker that seemed to hold secrets in each syllable.

"Barracuda," Lily repeated slowly, her posh accent flipping the r, the last vowel trailing off and barely audible. There was beauty in it, perhaps, but not in him; he was all darkness, and not the lovely kind, that drew you in. A summer's night, or the depths of the sea. No, more like volcanic rock; Sleeping Dragon came suddenly to mind.

And those eyes! They cut through her like claws, ripping past her flesh to her core. Yet she was able to look straight into them, and not be damned. Her father had spun tales of basilisks, creatures that turned wolves to stone simply by staring. But she was not stone, but flesh and blood, the fire in her belly growing with every breath of his scent she took.

"Tell me more about the lilies," she whispered, taking another step into him. Her tail moved the slightest bit to one side, leaving her vulnerable to his whims.