Rising Sun Valley skwila

They stood in a clash of teeth, both unfazed by the blood demanded of another. Anselm sensed the burn of iron in the air, the tang of salt in his teeth as he drove for fur and skin and was met in turn by Heda's hot breath and branding fangs.

Heda toppled. Anselm fell upon her, noticing her suck in her breath in pain. In that moment, it felt righteous -- but later, Anselm would feel a burning sense of shame to be the author of such ruthless callousness.

Her protest was slowing. It had been a long time since Anselm had been so close to another body. The heat of her frame pressed against him -- the tension in her fighting muscles exhilarating him. He felt something else awaken in him too, drunkenly summoned to life by the cloying mist of her scent. As he pinned her to the ground, Anselm felt something hard and unforgivable awaken longingly against her thigh.

But that was not him -- he would not take what was not his. While his gut burned with some unexpressed want too desperate to name, Anselm rose with a hard shove. Fuck off. He snarled, stalking stiffly to the bank's edge. His face throbbed with a latticework of new cuts -- and at some point in their struggle, he had bitten his own tongue.

This was territory too ugly for even Anselm -- he could not look at her and so, trotted away as a man hounded by his own dogs of shame.