Bearclaw Valley Where’s the fire? What’s the hurry about?

blood washed into his mouth, subduing his pain somewhat. she was a spiderling creature, violently swift and with an accord for her own survival he could somewhat admire. 
masculinity then did admire for a second the skill with which his mate had wound her arm around the creature, the flash of her teeth.
no time for it! or a single thought beyond my wife is hot before he was leaping to the fore, cutting off the blackwing's escape and throwing himself over her own shoulders. his teeth dragged hot breath through her fur, a snarl promising more skin torn from her hide if she did not submit now.
despite the blood upon his cheek and the thrumming pain of those teeth-marks, he was elated, his jaws employed in fierce defense of the woman and the land he loved.