Duskfire Glacier not kids no more

faust smelled him before he saw her. the acrid stench of another male clung to her skin like filth, woven through her fur, tainting the air between them. his stomach twisted. something guttural clawed up his throat, hot and seething. fucking svalla.
his tail rose instinctively, the thick bristle of his guard hairs flaring, shoulders stiffening as she strode past him, so smug, so utterly pleased with herself.
his forest eyes burned, tracking the sway of her hips, the deliberate flick of her tail. she wanted him to react. wanted him to burn for it. and damn her, he did.
her words were a blade, one she twisted so effortlessly, aiming for the soft, raw parts of him. he let it pierce—felt the sting, the bloom of something dark and unspoken. his jaw clenched. a sneer threatened to curl at the edges of his lips, but he caught it, swallowed it down like bile.
it was fine. his voice was cold, clipped. controlled. but there was a dangerous undercurrent beneath it, something barely restrained.
thank you for asking.
a sharp, pointed tsk left his tongue as he turned his head from her, dismissive, as if the sight of her offended him. as if he could simply shut out the wildfire she had started inside him.
but his body betrayed him. his pulse thundered, his teeth ached to sink into her scruff, to drag her back and remind her who she belonged to.
but she didn’t, did she?
she never did.
faust exhaled slowly, forcing himself to step past her, to put distance between them. but the tension remained, thick and smothering, woven tight between them like a snare waiting to spring.