Road snacks

The taste of the blood pouring across his tongue and down his throat was so damn good, it was practically orgasmic! Alastor didn't release the dead pronghorn until its pumping heart had fallen still and not a single drop of that rich life-giving wine went to waste. His pupils dilated, the wild animal inside him feasting on the saccharine flavor of the blood and pounding at the doors of his mind, screaming for release. Once the flow of blood came to an end, the dire brute dropped the corpse with an unceremonious thud, gasping and panting hard while he tried to remain in control of his senses. Wide black eyes peered around the prairie, spotting Manea as she ended the life of the seventh and last pronghorn. His nostrils flared as he snorted and took a deep breath of her scent on the air mixed with the metallic tang of fresh blood. He felt those feral urges within him demanding he satisfy another hunger deep in his belly.

Blinking hard in quick succession, Alastor huffed and shook his head, trying to keep himself composed for the time being. No matter how badly he wanted to stalk over, throw Manea to the ground, and fuck her brains out, they still had work to do. The pronghorns would need to be skinned, dressed, and prepared for long-term storage and transportation. Plus their little ones would no doubt be getting ready for a snack soon. Taking a few deep breaths to try and quiet the raging lusts inside of his feral brain, Alastor began to grab up each of the carcasses to prepare to bring back to their den. They still had a lot of work ahead of them.


"Alastor"