Hushed Willows [m] It's all fire and brimstone, baby

Lorcan moved along the borders of Shadow Ridge, his keen gaze scanning the familiar terrain with practiced ease. He was in his element here, slipping through the shadows, keeping a vigilant eye for any signs of intrusion or intrigue. But then, on a breeze that swept past him, he caught a scent—delicate yet potent, a woman’s perfume laced with the unmistakable tang of fresh blood.

The sweet, intoxicating scent stirred something primal in him, sending a thrill down his spine. His senses sharpened, and he began to track her, each step quiet and calculated, following her scent through the wilds like prey. With every step, the aroma grew richer, mingling with the metallic warmth of a recent kill. It filled the air, thick and heady, drawing him deeper into the shadowed woods.

Finally, he caught sight of her beneath the willows, her russet coat stark against the fresh blood of a goat still clinging to life beneath her jaws. She was a vision, fierce and unapologetic, tearing into the flesh with an elegant brutality that struck a chord within him.

With smooth, controlled steps, Lorcan emerged from the shadows like a phantom, his intense gaze fixed on her as he moved into view. His eyes gleamed with intrigue, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he regarded her, his voice low and rich as he spoke.

A fine kill for such a fine creature, he murmured, his tone thick with admiration, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. And here I thought I was the only phantom haunting these parts.