Rip and tear

So far, Alastor was finding his honeymoon vacation with his new bride to be far more frustrating than enjoyable. For whatever reason, Manea was deliberately doing all she could to tease and arouse him, working him up then leaving him with blue balls, pent up and aching for release. Not once during their entire trip to the southern lands did she let him underneath her tail, despite his protests and insistence, all his best efforts were rejected. Sure, she had other means to help take the edge off his lust when it got to be too much, but that didn't fully quench the need. More than once, he considered just grabbing her and overpowering her to have his way with his sexy mate, but he knew the ramifications of what would happen if he didn't succeed. Besides, Manea was clearly planning something special for them once they got to wherever they were going, no doubt tying into the story she had told him about her family's traditions for honeymoons. As maddening as it was, Alastor would be a good sport about it and be patient—for now.

Their adventure south had brought them to some desolate hills with barely any signs of life around the arid, craggy landscape. A few withered or dying trees here and there, some dry brush, but not much. It reminded him of the landscape that surrounded the mountain caves he had grown up in long ago. He followed Manea's lead, tracking down a small herd of wild sheep as they searched for any grazable grass they could find. There were only four: a ram and three ewes, all ripe for the picking. Alastor eyeballed the clouds on legs with a heightened sense of feral bloodlust, no doubt a byproduct of the sexual tension Manea had been building up in him. He wanted to sink his teeth into the animals, to feel them kick and struggle and hear them scream. If he couldn't have an outlet for his dick, then he'd use his fangs to purge his sinful desires instead.

Manea asked if he wanted to use any "fancy footwork" or just go at them. Alastor, who had been fixated on the prey animals, turned his head to peer at his mate with an animalistic look of hunger in his black, soulless gaze. "Rip and tear." A malicious grin slowly split his lips, revealing every deadly tooth and fang to his wife. Then, without warning, Alastor sprinted down the hill towards the grazing animals like a bolt of black lightning, his muscled form rippling with sinew and power in every stride. Heavy paws pounded the dry earth, alerting the sheep, though it was far too late for the closest ewe, the smallest of the bunch. Alastor was airborne and snarling with open jaws before she could bleat in shock, and by then it was over.

Alastor grabbed the sheep's head in his jaws, jerking the sheep back and forth while sharp fangs cut through flesh, then lifted it straight off the ground and slammed it hard into the earth. The sheep was stunned, but still bleating in fear. Growling with menacing glee at the ewe's terror, Alastor savored the taste of fresh blood in his mouth, applying more and more pressure to the panicking animal's head until he felt its skull pop in his jaws. The sheep's legs which had previously been flailing went limp all at once, dangling like macabre wind chimes from its body while Alastor held it aloft, letting blood and brain matter run over his palate like a delicious pâté, a guttural groan of delight rumbling in the dire brute's chest. He dropped the carcass with a mushed pulp of a head and set his violent gaze on the other three sheep as they began to try and flee, watching to see which one Manea would pick off so he could find his next victim.


"Alastor"