Black Morass opiate vapour

Irene stiffened as his words sliced through the air like a blade, his guttural growl reverberating deep within her chest. She hated the way his dominance rippled through her, hated how her instincts screamed at her to bow, to submit.

Her emerald eyes flashed as she stared up at him, jaw tightening as she struggled to maintain what little composure she had left. She didn’t know what he had snarled in that foreign tongue, but the way it rolled off his tongue—sharp, threatening—sent an unfamiliar chill down her spine.  

You’re quite the tyrant, she muttered, her voice low and strained, trying to mask the tremor of unease and—curse it—intrigue. Slowly, she lifted her chin, defiance flickering in her gaze even as her body remained firmly in place.

Her breath hitched as he leaned closer, his overwhelming presence suffocating. Her claws flexed in the mud beneath her, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare provoke him further. Stay here? Among... this? She gestured weakly to the swamp around them with a flick of her ears, her lip curling faintly. Why would I ever agree to that?

And yet, even as she spoke, something within her hesitated. The raw power he exuded, the sheer command he had over the mire and over her—there was a part of her, buried deep beneath the layers of pride and stubbornness, that found it... intoxicating. But how could she deny the opportunity since she truly had no place to go.

Her gaze flicked away briefly, her ears lowering slightly in a gesture of reluctant acknowledgment. Fine, she gritted out, her voice softer now, though no less bitter. I’ll stay. She shot him a sidelong glance, defiance still simmering in her eyes. But don’t think for a second that you own me.