Phantom Hollow capture the erymanthian boar

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A token moment yawned before him—an opportunity of retribution for the wrongs that had been committed to his pack—but not necessarily dealt with a just hand. The temptation to seek purchase on the flesh of the other man was growing at a rapidly alarming rate, and the permeating scent of Wren was all the more encouragement for the figurative devil on Akavir’s shoulder.

He continued to bristle—tongue snaking out to flash across his teeth as he licked at them—eyes darkened upon the other.

Exes for a reason. Akavir’s need to see the witch bend at the knee was great—but not at the behest of his own moral compass…. Or, what little morality that seemed to still hang on a dangerous precipice.

“Fuck,” he hissed, a final snarl before he turned abruptly on what was likely to be a ridiculous pissing match, his eyes flaring as they roved over Wren—muzzle drifting with a brazen assertion, mouthing at her nape and shoulder, a frustrated rumble echoing from his chest as he made to coax her away from the other man and playing upon the edge of yet another new and dangerous game.