Porcupine Ridge all you have is your fire

he watched the fay's coquettish movements with a pair of blade-sharp eyes and a simmering hunger that lurked prophetically in the dark corners of his upturned mouth. stigmata wanted a great many things, but his capacity to fixate upon a single task would daunt a lesser wolf. he might strike them as too intense - and they would be right, given his militant background and his ability to treat all things - even a butterfly flutter - with the seriousness of death. but then they would miss the benefits of owning the judgemental wardog's savvy; strangers too weighted by his gravity to claim him as an ally.

his breath rose from his parted muzzle in great bursts of steam, and he eyed her taut, lithe frame with naked interest despite making no further move to test her boundaries. she seemed wary enough, as he liked it, and now it was just a matter of how close she wanted to get; because letting the female control their environment would help her to feel safer around him, which would ultimately help him in the long run, if he played his cards right.

"oh, all kinds," he told her airily. "i can be quite..." convincing, commanding, enchanting... "tolerant," he finished clinically - safely - with a haunting flicker of amusement.