Ankyra Sound dead woman walking

he laughed now, but would he laugh long? sobeille’s lunge for his limb had his wrist between her teeth in seconds. before she could twist, he did it for her — tearing his leg from between her jaws with an aching crack. rivulets of blood danced down the thin channel, pooling maliciously at his feet.

she tensed, remembering that he was the reason she’d lost so very much: and suddenly, self preservation didn’t matter so much. she lurched forward as he did, the grimace across her face turning steely with pain as his teeth tore into the side of her face.

but the pain would not slow her, not when she’d experienced spiritual death by grief these last two weeks — and truly, she’d endure a thousand of these if it meant her maman walked this earth again. staggering under his weight, sobeille dropped again, wincing under the battery of teeth piercing her nape and scruff. she feinted for his wounded limb, hoping he’d try to counter her by leaning down to seize her. in doing so, he’d briefly leave his throat vulnerable — sobeille intended to set free the bounding pulse under his jugular — to create the most magnificent crimson fountain ever seen.

* * *

that night sobeille crested the rise's stony face, blood crusting her pelt. a new scar tore from face to throat. a new limp hounded her step.

she would not speak of the things done at this hour.

her only goal was to bring marinette the pound of flesh seized between her bloodied teeth.