Firefly Glen The Witching Hour

Dark lips wet with his blood, Tzila bared her teeth, snapping at the raw flesh. Peeling it back more, layer by layer. She twisted her supple neck, angled it into his bite, shuddering with approval. The pain was raw, real. Addicting like a drug she couldn't get enough of. She would be interested to see how her flesh healed up long after their gore fest was over. Smashing her cheek quite firmly against his own, she raised her chin, coating his brow with his own blood, dribbling from her lips. Perhaps marking him as her own plaything, from this point on. 

Limits, to her, were meant to be tested and ultimately broken. Getting an idea whilst tiring of suckling the blood from the first wound, she abruptly yanked herself away, caring little if her flesh and some of her fur tore in the process. Provided he had released her, she moved ahead of him, nipping harshly at his pale legs. Then, with a suggestive flick of her tail, rolled down onto her stomach in a rare display of vulnerability. All the while offering him a toothy devils grin, laced with crimson pearls.