Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

how can she manage with such a feat to her nature? roan wasn't certain. she needed someone. someone to hunt for her, protect her, house her, fuck her—

he let out a chuff. from the depths of his throat. his name was like honey against her broken, tattered voice. say it, he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. always quiet. a vagrant through these fields.

instead, he took a closing step toward her. his jaw opened, placing his jowls around her nape. saliva dripping from his drooling state around her furs, falling into her skin, marking her— claiming her as his own. he didn't clamp around her, simply establishing what he believed to be his.

he wanted her. needed to protect her. he wasn't planning on letting her go. safe. he muttered, barely audible against the bronzing furs of her neck.