Swiftcurrent Creek where'd you learn to shoot your gun so straight

Her canine pierced his muzzle with the clack of their fangs, and the metallic aroma of fresh blood flooded her flared nostrils. It had not been Durnehviir's intention to wound him, but in her building rage she was not prepared to apologise for it.

Constantine stoically withstood the sting, bore his teeth and withdrew from her side. A bitter gust whipped between them, as cold and unforgiving as the angry champagne of the Alphess' fierce glare. She followed Constantine's movement with her eyes and rose her proud crown to allow her gaze to lock with the fire of his as he made a very bold observation.

Her tail-tip twitched. An ear flickered.

He was not wrong, but he wasn't right either.

"I don't trust her," came the dragoness' confession and mused, not around you. Over the weeks that her thoughts dwelled on the mystery surrounding her mate's pallid companion, of bottling her insecurities and her fear of being second best, Durnehviir had willed herself to believe that - if given the choice - Constantine would never put her first.

And her world could never revolve around Aria.