Herbalists' Cache but my aching soul

blackfell felt her teeth at his ruff, a firm and claiming hold—one she had every intention of keeping. but he was not so easily kept.

he turned into her, using her momentum against her, jaws snapping for the vulnerable stretch of her nape. he felt fur between his fangs, the warmth of her flesh just beneath, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he had won.

then she twisted. a sharp, sudden jerk, and the ground was no longer beneath him. she was taking him down with her.

a snarl ripped from his throat as they crashed, tangled in each other, limbs grappling for control. snow kicked up around them, sharp and cold against the heat of their struggle.

he did not relent.

his grip on her nape tightened as he wrenched them sideways, seeking to pin her, to press her into the dirt and claim victory before she could find another way to drag him under.