Stolen Away In The Dead of Night

The Warlord shivered as the sound of her own interest escaped her lips. He was clawing at his control, but it was barely contained. Nearly burned away with the fear and anger that had been pumping through him just moments before. As her tongue brushed against him, he growled at her. Displaying teeth for a moment, before lashing his own tongue forward, swiping at the blood of her split lip.

He was kissing her again, and her words vibrated their lips. “We should head back.” He said, his own voice a low whisper, though he made no attempt to move. “If we don’t go now, Isa, I can’t guarantee your safety.” His words were a warning, and his voice a rumble. He was leaning into her again. Feeling the warmth of her coat a sharp contrast to the storm at the den’s entrance, only a few feet from where they stood. The wind brushed some of the rain onto the wolves, but the cold did little to take away the heat he could feel pooling in his stomach, and spreading across his limbs. If Isa wasn’t careful, he would not claim responsibility for his actions.

"Speech"