This is his territory.

There is something about this place, in conjuction with its surrounding forest and pervading darkness, that beckons to the great black leviathan. It reeks of him - he has marked every tree, every shrub, with his claim. His dragons hunt freely here - the wildlife of the Rotunda lives in fear of them, and of him.

So when a mare treads her pretty little way into his territory, it is only natural that the stallion give her his full and undivided attention.

Both dragons fly alongside him - opposite sides, of course. Vadir is almost fully-grown now, and dwarfs her red brother by quite a margin. She is so large that she struggles to fit on Volterra's broad back, so spends most of her time in the air or perched on branches. She is a glimmering spectre of death, a queen in every sense of the word, and she knows it. Even in flight, she holds her horned head high and proud, her face set into a mask of golden superiority.

But, when Volterra's wicked intentions radiate from his mind into theirs, they realise he is hunting. They know what this means, and so they make themselves scarce. They fly off to either side, tails swinging behind them, becoming one with the shadows.

Their stallion, in contrast, leaves the shadows, and prowls alone towards the woman.

She is stood on the Rotunda, and she calls it heaven. The leviathan smiles a cold smile. "Or hell." His deep, resounding voice echoes through the forest as he ascends onto the stone slab beside her, ravishing her with his gaze.

This one is forthcoming. He likes a woman who know what she wants, and his jaws lapse into a wolf's smile. Her voice is an expert coo which resounds in the very depths of his body, and his cold eyes suddenly blaze with fire.

Her question does not need an answer; the way the goliath's gaze roams freely and hungrily across her sumptous curves is surely answer enough. Her own eyes dart across his body and he bulks each powerful muscle for her viewing pleasure; his neck arches, displaying each thick, rippling contour, and his nostrils gape to snort hot breath into the cool air. What is it about women that ensnares him so? He is a slave to his carnal desires, a mere dumb beast basking in the light of their salacious curves and rounded haunches.

When he is a king, he will have to learn to resist this...obsession. But for now, he is young, free and quite able to do what he wants - there is time for sanity and abstinence later.

She sashays closer, and a hungry growl begins to rumble in the depths of his massive chest. Does she realise she is playing with fire? His tail lashes his thick flanks, and the moment she is within range he reaches out his jaws to try and snap possessively at her withers, hoping to land his mark upon her delicate flesh. It is a test; to see if she wishes to play rough, or run for the hills.

Ah, the delightful little kitten has claws - she snaps at him, and her teeth burst a bruise into existence onto the hard muscle of his shoulder.

She turns, her side to his face; he is a monolith above her, a great wall of power and virile, masculine desire. The thick feathers around his hooves tickle the dirt and dust beneath them as he marches forwards, seeking to press his thick chest against her side, looming over her.

In his mind, his dragons hunt as one; recently, he forces them to work as a team, to try and forge a relationship between them and increase their shared power. They chase after an adult deer, niggling and biting, predatory and magnificent. He cuts down their mental bond until their hunt is just a vague series of images and emotions inside his head, because he is hunting too and it needs his full focus.

Hard to be in heaven if you're sinning. He smiles a cold, dangerous smile. "That is very true." But the goliath has never claimed to be close to heaven - he is decidedly bonded to hell, in all senses of the word.

She asks for a name - why does she need a name, something created in words, when actions speak far louder? All the same, he gives it. "Volterra. And you?" Best to know it - a broad needs a name.

Her tail swings, slapping him in the face; again he growls, guttural, and aims a bite for her dock. Any excuse to get close to where he wants to be.

He knows he shouldn't do this. He knows that giving in to his urges never ends well; it feels so good at the time, but bastard children spew from his virile balls like pellets from a gun. Look what that did to Isopia, the knowledge that he is just an animal. Look how irresponsible! Volterra has learnt the hard way that he cannot just fuck around and expect nature to forgive him for it. Pleasure has a cost, and the beast is not the sort to shirk responsibility for his actions.

Every mare he beds from now on in will be tracked, stalked, so he can ensure that should their sides swell with the weight of his seed, he will know about it.

His children are the future. They must be influenced by him if they are to reach their full potential.

But there may not be any danger of that with this antlered beauty; he knows not if his pollen will quicken in her womb, if her thighs will part with his child. The goliath knows only that she will quiver beneath his weight and his ravishing ministrations, that she will wriggle and writhe and sing for him. She nips his shoulder and he leans into the sudden pain, revelling in it, delighting in it; her name is noted and filed, but there is little time to truly absorb it. Her backside is suddenly there, in front of him, and his hunger rips its way free from him. He would be a fool to turn down this opportunity.

So he doesn't.

-fade-

He slides from her rounded quarters, sweating but sated. His jaws seek to plant another harsh nip upon her dock, a claim, a reminder that she is his, his, all his. She is not Isopia, but she certainly scratched a very potent itch. "Is that the heaven you had in mind?" he growls, pressing his gargantuan side against hers. Normally he would leave now, his duty done, but he has nowhere else to be and perhaps, if he plays his cards right, he may get a second taste.

His dragons, sensing that his hunt is complete, leave the kill they've made; together they stow it in a tree, where no other predator will be able to take it. They fly, blood and meat flapping between their teeth, their scales iridescent in the half-light. Vadir leads the way, golden and resplendent, and her superior speed allows her to claim Volterra's muscular back as her own long before her red brother arrives on the scene. She shoots Tiva a contemptous glare, daring the mare to object to her presence, then settles herself down to clean her scales from the blood and muck of the hunt. Vérzés lands on a nearby tree, eyeballing the stallion and his whore.

Manful pride boils in his stomach at the notion that she may wish to revisit him. It has not often crossed the brute's mare-addled mind to keep the women he beds around; but now he thinks about it, it strikes him as a rather sensible idea. Why expend his energy hunting down broads in all four corners of Helovia when he could simply keep a select few close at hand, ready to indulge in whenever he pleases? He had always intended this to be the case when he has his own herd and a harem, but why not start now?

An interesting thought, and one he will dwell upon soon, but his attention is still preoccupied with this antlered beauty. Her tail lashes across his face and a savage growl bursts from his jaws as he presses close to her again, seeking to pepper her back and sides with dominant nips. The sudden movement makes Vadir spread her wings to keep his balance, and she hisses loudly and unpleasantly at having to steady herself upon her bonded's sweaty back. Her viciously hooked talons snatch at his flesh and embed painful cuts into the hard contours of his skin, but he hardly notices - he is too sated, too relaxed.

Is this where you live? asks Tiva. The beast shrugs, inciting another indignant growl from Vadir. "I live everywhere and anywhere, Tiva, but rest assured I will always be able to find you should the need arise." And vice-versa - if she ever finds herself with an itch that needs to be scratched, he is quite sure she will be able to hunt him down.

She speaks again, complimenting his dragons, and a great rumble of amusement shifts from his colossal chest at the effect it has on red and gold alike. Both of his companions preen at her praise, shifting and lifting to display every glimmering inch of their bodies. They decide they rather like this one - any woman who finds them more attractive than Volterra is quite satisfactory in their book. As she invites Vérzés down onto her back, he hesitates for a moment - it is not in his nature to land upon those who aren't his bonded, but he sees Vadir lazily washing her talons upon Volterra's back and decides that he will take the mare up on her offer. He flares his wings and glides down onto the unfamiliar skin and muscle of Tiva's haunches, although it takes a stern word from the stallion to remind him not to use his claws to balance himself as he does when he's on Volterra's back.

Not out of any real affection for the woman, but he'd hate for her back to be too scratched and painful for her to be able to take his weight again.

Vérzés settles himself down comfortably, his crimson gaze fixed vindictively upon his golden sister. Although the two do not squabble as much as they did when Vadir was younger, they still do not like each other and will seize any opportunity to one-up each other. Vadir huffs imperiously at her brother's attempts to incite jealousy, and turns around so her back is to him, as though deeming him unworthy of her gaze. Volterra rolls his eyes as the twin emotions of his dragons flood through him - will they ever get along?

Tiva asks their names, and he is quick to respond. "The red is Vérzés, the gold Vadir. They are powerful, dangerous creatures, but deeply proud ones, too. The easiest way to floor a dragon is to pay it a compliment." He snorts as both red and gold give mental nods of agreement.