Duskfire Glacier burn

the blood she drew was a spark.
faust felt the warmth spread, thick as fire, coursing through his veins. the scent of it—her—stirred something ancient and primal, a hunger that burned deeper than battle. his pulse thrummed, erratic, as her fangs sank into his scruff. he growled, deep and visceral, the taste of her blood on his tongue.
she was no child. no tender thing. she was a warrior—sharp as the edges of his own anger.
he did not pull back.
instead, he slammed his weight forward, jaws snapping for the vulnerability of her flank, and felt the sharp tear as his fangs found purchase. not deep, but enough to send a warning.
enough dancing.
her challenge burned in the air like a brand, and faust did not hesitate.
he struck harder this time—faster. his own blood mixing with hers, fury and instinct. her blood is fire, he thought, and with it, she fanned his own.
you want me to fight, he snarled, a promise more than a threat. his body collided with hers again, seeking to push her down but not break her. no, not yet. then you’ll feel it.
his claws raked for her throat. he didn't care if she bled. he didn't care if it was savage. he wanted to see if she could take it.