Heron Lake Plateau She never picked up the phone.

Goddamnit, he could taste that nearness to the finish line as if it was right on his fucking lips. The difference between his fangs was the difference between his mindsets. He could nibble with lust at the base of your ear, or he could rip the damn thing off and chew it for a snack. But it seemed the sheila wasn’t having that nibble going down, tonight. Nope. She wanted the ever-living-shit beat out of her,

and lucky for her, he was right in that mood. 

Oi, and she sealed the fuckin’ deal as she begged him for it in her eyes. 

So as he had turned to see if she was serious, and when she had confirmed her absolute denial, he indulged in her wish for death. 

A man of muscle never ever moved fast, but they moved with power. Thrusting strong hinds into malleable loam and flecks of slab rock, the Aussie pushed himself forward with the ease of a starved shark. He had his target before him, and what mattered was very little as she was right there. 

Maws that had ended the ignorance and and arrogance of so many before her opened once more to deliver degredation and damnation to any they fell judgement upon, as hulkish body reared to bear a mallet of weight upon the svelte form of the wench. 

She would know never to deny him again, or she would know nothing at all, anymore.