Honey, honey, you're my favorite drug

Manea just stood there for a moment, staring dumbly at him while he stood there like a statue, scarcely moving save for the occasional blink or ruffle of his flowing fur in the coastal breeze. He didn't know what she wanted from him or why she had sought him out. Was it to finally strip him of his rank and cut ties with him? Was it to exile him from Elysium with Relm to fend for themselves? Was she going to attack him as if he were a trespasser in unwelcoming lands? He did not know. The two dire wolves stood there, gazes locked, while Manea slowly brought herself closer to him. Her expression shifted through a gamut of emotions that ranged the spectrum from mournful and remorseful to resentful and furious. Alastor tried not to show how much it stung to see his wife look at him that way, like he was some sort of criminal come to violate her home. A leper being shunned from his community. Did he deserve it? Perhaps. Had he wronged her? In some ways, yes. But she was no more innocent a player than he was. He was semi shocked she still didn't reek of that other brute and sex.

Just as he began to wonder if Manea was going to do anything at all or what she had stopped him for, a blur of purple motion came from the corner of his vision, then his head snapped to the side with an audible smack of flesh hitting flesh. Sharp, fiery pain flared across his cheek, warm wetness dampening the fur on the side of his muzzle. Alastor blinked a couple of times, gazing in shock down at the rocks beneath him to where little droplets of red fell from his snout to the ground. Manea had slapped him—and what's more, she had slashed his face. A ringing started up in Alastor's ears, the prequel warning sign to a slip of his control. He lifted his head back up and slowly turned his wide, stunned eyes back to her. As soon as he did, he felt Manea's paws cup around his cheeks, holding his head in her grasp while she stared long and hard at him. Then her muzzle was pressing hard to his in a desperate kiss, pouring forth all her longing and need for him. In any other situation, Alastor would have easily melted into that familiar affection. But Manea had triggered something in him, and as hot as her hungry kiss for him was, the demon wolf was focused more on the strike.

No more than a second after she'd begun to kiss him, one of the dire brute's massive paws shot up and wrapped tightly around his wife's throat, squeezing so tight she'd scarcely be able to make a sound. Alastor pulled Manea's mouth from his, black eyes gleaming with a wildfire as he gazed hard at her. Blood continued to drip from his cheek, staining her paw where she touched him. Ebony lips peeled back from pearly fangs in a silent snarl while he stared at her. Then without warning, he turned and shifted his weight, throwing Manea to the ground while moving to stand above her, keeping her pinned beneath him with his paw pressing down on her throat. The alpha male's eyes were wild and frenzied, drinking in the sight of Manea beneath him while he held her to the rocky shore. Crimson blood dripped from his snout down onto her face like a macabre rain, splattering her violet visage with red. The paw on her throat flexed, sharp siam claws extending to dig into her neck, but not quite breaking the skin yet. He didn't want to kill her. Oh, but he was showing her how he could. He could so easily dig those claws a little deeper into where her pulse was strongest and rend her throat, letting her bleed out on this beach. He could drag her into the shoals and hold her head beneath the surf until the bubbles stopped and she had stilled. Hell, he could just keep pressing down until he saw those beautiful aqua eyes go dim and her twitching had ceased. In this moment, Alastor was the dominant one, and he was showing her that.

But Alastor didn't want to kill Manea. Her strike had incensed him and he would not let Manea get off with striking him without some sort of retaliation, but as much as the beast within craved her life, both the wolf and his demon desired something much, much more. Fixing his predatory gaze down on Manea while he watched her choke and fight for a little bit longer, Alastor eventually relented and loosened his grip enough for the violet fae to take a breath. Then he thrust his muzzle downward to crush into hers, kissing her back with that same furious need and desperate desire she had shown to him. Black lips parted hers for his tongue to slide into her maw, seeking hers out in a wrestling match for dominance while he stood over her, cascading onyx tail lifting over his back, one large paw still holding her throat while the other clawed at the rocky sand beneath them. No words were said between them—they weren't needed. Their body language and actions spoke for them. How Manea would respond with hers, that remained to be seen.

"Manea & Alastor Mendacium"