Silvertip Mountain Mind of Stone, Heart of Glass

His eyes only leave the female beside him for a moment to flicker down to the gory mess on the cave floor. Blood and guts mixing in with raw flesh and gallons of blood. Tendrils of skin and other nasty shit hangs from the concave of where it’s stomach should be. A few of the organs are still connected and flop about uselessly as he still has a hold of it, continuing to shake violently. God. He growls in his head. He loves it. 
He’s in his own world for a moment before he feels the front end on the animal drop and his adrenaline filled eyes shoot back to the she-wolf. She’s already dropped it and he’s only slightly embarrassed — just kidding, no he’s not. He takes pride in the work that’s bestowed before them. It has his blood rushing and boiling with a type of euphoria that he knows probably isn’t normal.

With his gaze stuck on her and his teeth still imbedded in the bones and muscle of the wolverines back, he notices the way she looks to him. He’s unable to read her expression, but he thankfully rules out any fear or disgust. That alone is enough to thoroughly enrapture him. Finally he’s dropping the kill and it causes a wet splash to sounds throughout the cave along with their labors breathing.

Donovan pants wildly, red teeth on display along with a crimson tinted, black tongue. He doesn’t take his hues off of her, rather he goes to slink them down her front half. 
The blood smeared all over her muzzle and face, gathering at her neck and chest, and further to her front legs. What a sight for sore eyes she is, the cherry red of blood such a stark contrast against her thick arctic coat. Her chest heaves with her own heavy breathes and he follows the motion when she swallows thickly. 

Then finally his eyes flick back up to hers and his open moves moves subtly into a smirk. “Fuck.” He sighs out almost huskily. He wouldn’t want to admit it but he might just be feeling a certain type of way.