Altar of Twilight you've been so still, barely beating at all

Marruz watched how she moved; how gracefully she projected herself, like a vision, upon the serene fell of night. A heat had gathered now just below the abdomen. It tightened the closer she drew, so that the knot was fixed and his breath cut short upon the crystalline air.

His chin lifted and the crown of his brow angled itself with an imperious demeanor; something borne of his father's masculinity. And as she retreated, his posture only grew further rigid; further entranced. He raised his paw as though to follow and promptly restrained himself, staring now with eyes of indigo and black fire. 

When she looked over her shoulder, the dragon was slain. Everything about her was divine and ever so sensual before him; something that, even to the ascetic darkling, could not be resisted. He moved easily from the shadows, pushing along the ground in calm, unhastened movements until he was directly beside her. His shoulder briefly brushed the fur along the dam's hip, and he had to lower his gaze to meet her own. He wanted more of her: more of her beauty, her scent, her heat.

"Marruz," his voice was thick and soaked up the night like the syrup of maples. "My name is Marruz." And his gaze implored that she return the favor; suggested that he didn't just dispense such information to anyone. He needed to know the name of this deity before him.