Deer For My Dear

Killing the sheep in the arid hills had been an incredibly fun pastime, but after the blood had been spilled and the flesh had been rent, Alastor had found himself more aroused from their activities than relieved, frustrating him even further that he couldn't unleash those needs on his mate. The pair of wolves made their way south through a lush prairie as a few darker clouds began to roll in from the west, a gentle rumbling overhead and a static on the air hinting at approaching rain. The weather did little to perturb the massive dire brute as he trudged through the high grasses, black eyes leering viciously out over the plains, looking for something else to release his feral animal on. He could slowly feel himself losing control over the wild beast that was slamming itself against the walls of his mind, threatening to break out at a moment's notice. Maybe some more blood would settle it down long enough so he wouldn't end up raping his mate.

Lifting his nose, Alastor sampled the air for the umpteenth time, this time catching a scent stronger than that of small game. Black eyes grew wider, the smell bringing forth the killer instinct in his DNA. He glanced back at Manea, motioning for her to follow him with a jerk of his head and a rumbling growl, then prowled off in search of their quarry. Cresting a small hill, Alastor spotted the animals: a small herd of mule deer, the bucks sporting their seasonal racks in preparation for a fall rut and the does milling about. There was about a dozen, and although he knew they couldn't kill them all, they could at least bring down two—if not more. Already the demon was salivating, ready to taste the rich wine that was their blood.

Turning obsidian eyes to his mate, he beckoned to the herd of deer. "Care to lead this time, my love?" he asked, more than eager to watch her powerful, divine body leap into bloody, deadly action.

"Alastor"