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t y r a d o n Heat continues to pool between his thighs, one massive hoof pawing eagerly against the ground. He does not beg; does not bend to the whims of any, yet he cannot deny his body's need for this woman. She speaks so easily of decapitation, macabre slaughter, and the thought of such wanton bloodshed only heightens his body's sense of arousal. His skin tingles, oversensitive to the air around it, neck arched and a stallion's snort pouring free from flared nostrils. "Her head would look most pretty on the entrance to our kingdom," he hisses. She, he is assuming, is a unicorn or pegasus, for no equine would be fool enough to try and take the vampire queen; oh, the beauty of a bloodied skull hung upon the branch beneath which the duo issue their commands! Cynder drags her head from inside the carcass long enough to shoot her bonded a dark look, then flares her wings and ascends to the skies. She does not want to see what she knows is to follow - her eyes, so innocent! This is a habit with her; whenever Tyradon takes a woman, the green makes herself scarce. Bonded they may be, heart and mind, yet there is something sacred about the act that Cynder feels she has no right to observe. She would expect the same courtesy if she ever found a mate to plant strong eggs within her body. Flame-tail lashing behind her, the emerald queen beats her powerful wings and disappears into the trees, whistling to Mongrel in an invitation to follow. Her mental link with the black monolith becomes a mere tendril, and only then can the ebony behemoth turn towards Confutatis. At last, she is his. He closes what distance remains between them, then he descends. -fade- PRAISE ME, TURN YOUR BACK AND HATE ME |
[ we are made of greed ]
[ the regime ]
