Swiftcurrent Creek Spent a few years drowning in vodka

He intended to slake his consistent thirst, but the form of a silver male at the creek side had caused him pause. Durnehviir’s scent drifted from the man—clearly, the wolf had been accepted, and the swarthy shadowrunner felt his jaw clench, wondering if the rift between them had perhaps caused her to linger in the stranger’s presence longer than she would have another.
 
Unprecedented jealousy was apparently a forefront of their relationship.
 
Uttering a low rumble in greeting, the regal stalked closer, his paw pads heavy as they crept over the grass and dirt by the creek. Pulling alongside the newcomer, his fiery eyes studied the more youthful man without open emotion, spare for the prick of his ears as they swept forward. “You’re new here,” he noted, his tongue sliding across his jowls. “I’m Constantine. Welcome.”