Mount Apikuni I'm not some kind of next door fuckjar

He stormed down the path that was wreathed most recently in @Bhediya's scent, fuming. For her scent was so thickly wreathed in Kukulkan's that it burned. It burned like indigestion, like a too-hot summer's day. It burned like every terrible sensation of heat—

And he burned for her in myriad ways. He must have her, he must take her, he must stamp this willfulness out of her before she ended up round with some bloke's whelps.

BHEDIYA! Pygmalion roared, bursting through various bits of winter-dead underbrush, heedless of the way the forest raked his flesh. He was without sense, out of his mind, uncaring of any physical sensation but her. Her scent, her taste, her insides. . .

A groan caught in his throat at the thought, for as wrathful as her heady smell had made him, it had elicited other feelings as well. Feelings he was far more keen to entertain than anger.