Hideaway Strath I love that she’s got daddy issues

The man is at his throat, teeth held firmly in place by strong jaws. The man has potential to be a grand warrior. 

But he hesitates. And hesitation kills.

Kyn, ever the opportunist, senses this just as quickly as it happens. His killer instinct is like a sixth sense to him, honed so well after so many years of battling and killing. He lives for this. It seems this stranger has never had such a life as him.

So, taking advantage of the others mistake, he turns the tables. He feels teeth snag on his throat, ruining fur, exposing flesh, drawing blood. It doesn’t stop him for one second. He’s made for this, he loves this, he needs this. When the Grandmaster settles his weight on top of him and snatches the other’s throat up in an unrelenting grip, he clenched his jaw as hard as he can, puncturing Dragomir’s windpipe. He hears a wet, strangled cough and wheezing. Yes. He loosens his grip and bites again just as his father told him. With his chest heaving, he steps to the side of his body, widens his stance, and shakes.

Blood flies everywhere. Savage growls muffle against the body in his deathly grasp. He whips the other body about the ground, kicking up dirt and grass at the effort. He’s putting in his all, so much so he feels bones crack and the others body go lifeless faster than he anticipates. Only then, after a few more unnecessary shakes, does he leg go. The body falling lifeless to the ground in a dirty puddle of his and Donovan’s blood. 

Golden orbs stare at the disfigured body beneath him. His tongue falls from his mouth, dripping with red and drool alike — teeth coated it in it. His chest is splattered in it, face completely smeared with it. He looks like an absolute monster covered in the life force of another being just like him. But he’s not like him because Donovan is a survivor — superior in every way. 

It’s then that his gaze leaves the wolf below him, limp with no more signs of life. He’s stolen it. No, now his attention is on the woman he kills for. 

He turns his head to meet Simmik’s eyes, smirk lining his bloody maw as he saunters closer to her. Kyn stops only when he’s reached her, dark tongue moving playfully over his whiskered and scarred lips. He closes in, rubbing his thick, bloody head against her neck and scenting her with death. 

He pulls back merely an inch to brush against her cheek and whisper feather light words into her ear, voice deep and purring — aroused by the sight before him. “Have I won your affections back, my love?”