Firefly Glen [PHE] the type that makes me feel old

Chaos and disorder ran in the blood of the Mayfair’s—of that he was certain. Cygnet shrieked—a singular word, once, twice. Mae slumped to the ground. The metallic tang of blood was on his tongue—despite the surrender of their midnight assailant, he longed to shred more from her—to dole out justice as he saw fit. If they had been at the Creek, he very well might have.

But this was not the Creek—and this was no random attack.

His snarl was guttural—a heavy paw lifting to press more firmly to her spine, to pin her further before he lifted his muzzle—howling for those who held the most jurisdiction for this area to come and to come swiftly.

Before his control snapped, and he broke her like a twig and fed her to his girls.

His summoning was for @Etienne—to assist the Creek wolves. For @Kukutux, to determine what would now happen.

Even for @Rodyn, to see if the man held any knowledge of this.

The cry faded—his muzzle swinging down, and the scent of blood remained thick in the air. Before the others would come, his mouth would linger closer to her ear. “Just so you know… The Creek wolves always pay their debts. An eye for an eye,” he murmured to her.

A promise for her and her alone—just before the cavalry would arrive and save her.