Creating life among the dead

Widow was uncharacteristically quiet all the while he approached her, just looking up at him and ignoring his questions. Stolas, who had never smelled a fae in heat before, did not consciously recognize what he was smelling coming off of her. But his body did. The pheromone-laced perfume Widow was emitting was causing all sorts of reactions in the young male. His blood felt like lava in his veins, burning him up from the inside out. That gnawing hunger deep in the pit of his gut continued to churn, insatiable and ravenous, but not the same kind of hunger he felt when he was called to dinner. It was a physical sort of hunger, the kind that demanded something other than sustenance for its relief. Widow was triggering all sorts of primal reactions hardcoded into Stolas' DNA from millennia of biological needs. He might not recognize what he was feeling... but his body and instincts certainly did.

Moving as if on autopilot, the young dire brute approached the leopard-spotted fae with a curious quirk to his brow when she offered him some of her potion. He had just watched her consume some of it, so he knew it at least had to be safe, but not knowing what was in it was one hell of a gamble. He trusted Widow though, and as she offered him her home brew, he came closer until he was right upon her. A large dark paw lifted to scoop up the bottle and gave it a tentative sniff. It smelled sharp, of chemicals he couldn't identify. Throwing caution to the wind, he lifted the bottle to his lips and downed a long gulp. The alcohol immediately burned across his palate and down his throat, making the young wolf cough and sputter some as his body lurched in response to his first taste of liquor. "Oh, by the stars, that's strong! What's in that?" he asked, scrutinizing the bottle in his paws before taking a much more conservative sip of the liquid.

After a few moments, Stolas began to feel that warmth the alcohol had left in his throat spread outward from his belly, heating him from within. He blinked rapidly, reeling from the new sensations overcoming him. He set the bottle back down between them—then let his gaze linger on Widow, following her pattern of dark spots from her shoulders down to her hips. He swallowed hard, his breathing turning shallow while he shifted to sit a little closer to her. "You smell really good," he mumbled after a moment, lifting a curious paw and moving to rest his paw along Widow's back, suddenly feeling the uncontrollable urge to be touching her. He wanted to rub her back, stroke his digits through her fur, feel her skin against his. It was like a desire to cuddle with her—only much more intense, a yearning to be one with her deep within his core.

"Stolas"