Whitebark Stream crawling back to you

he knows the affect he has on her. it is like water meeting fire, a sizzling and popping that dissolves all. smoke, rising, beating against the ceiling of a great hearth. the great hearth they could have made—together.
how many women had blackfell been betrayed by in his lifetime? too many to count. and yet, this one had hurt most of all. the first woman. the one who came before all—and she haunted the paths of his mind, selfish reminder of what could have been and what never was.
it is why she earns his ire now, and it is irate in its pulsing. coming from him in mighty waves that seek to consume and to ravage, the slicing of a crimson gaze upon silver ice, piercing skin and flesh and soul. i should have. he sneers to her now. breath wasping close, upon her face, ghosting in the cool spring air. there could be no more steps taken that would bring him closer; her body pressing, his stealing touch. and then she is gone.
feline steps leading her away only slightly, scarred hindquarter passing his chest that trembles in the wake of her touch. she sees him in ways that feel like a violation of every black, cold corner of his being. blackfell growls—short, dry, gurgling in his throat and trapped in a cage of teeth who have seen no end of bloodshed. your pathetic sons, he taunts, seeking to lash her in any way that he can. weak shouldered. weak minded. pushing further, uprooting. weak-loined. for it was no secret; each one of her sons favored their own sex—or at the very least, it was rumored.
and he relished in each one.
where she seeks to create distance, he will close it again. quickly. now coming up behind her, his forelegs threatening to wrap her hips, to drag her down beneath him. testing her, testing that connection most carnal that had driven them always. lashing closer, snapping his teeth to the scruff of fur upon her neck. would they come to blows?
i would have given you strong sons. he taunts. i still can. he taunts more. the truth is: she disgusts him. he does not want to touch her. but it would appease every burning nerve in his body to draw some sort of reaction from her. i do not burn with you. you only want me to.
if you are here, he cuts around her, pressing his chest close to her shoulder, seeking to drive his mouth to her ear where he will growl lowly, it means i might claim you again.