Rising Sun Valley skwila

Being a dick and playing with fire share two commonalities: eventually, you get burned.

Anselm did not have time to react to the viper-like speed of Heda's assault. Now he was in Etienne's position, like the day he had drawn blood from the sea-boy and felt miserable for it.

A dark gout of red rose in a jagged line above his muzzle. Anselm snarled, fending her off with a rough push. She screamed, angled limbs and teeth aiming for him again.

This time Anselm was a little more prepared. He rose with the boxing of his own limbs, jaws snapping at anything he might give, take, rebuke -- all out of a blind fury that she dared touch him,

That Etienne dared be touched by another --

And before Anselm knew it, he was maddened by his own crumbling empire. Blinded by a cloud of overwhelming estrus smoke. And sinking, sinking deeper into a man he did not recognize as he fought tooth and claw against her and the shadows snaring the functions of his heart.

If he could just pin her and stop her screaming.