Silver Moraine [m] I a[m] the edge of the blade,

faust stood still beneath her touch.
her teeth grazed, but did not pierce—an unspoken gesture he understood. the wildness in her was not dulled by submission, only redirected, funneled into something far more primal than battle. he had seen this before in the cold north: the wolves who loved as they warred. sharp. fierce. consuming.
he exhaled through his nose, slow and low. let her circle him. let the tension coil like the bowstring before the arrow loosed.
careful, he muttered, the edge of a grin ghosting his features. i bite back.
and when the line was drawn, he crossed it.
what followed would leave bruises deeper than teeth. snow churned beneath them, and above, the sky watched in silence. he would not break her—no, she would remain unbroken, even as she yielded.
men darukaal did not take mates in the soft way. and faust… he had never been gentle.