Blood Moon Date Night

No sooner had the last of the vagabonds been exterminated, Scylla's sing-songy voice called out a revelation—a surprise! Looking like a delighted child as she revealed that she had orchestrated this entire scenario, Saracyn watched the petite fae's stretch of satisfaction and the eager wiggle of her tail while she got herself comfortable on her rock pedestal, explaining her motives. Stuffy and formal dates weren't her style, and she correctly sussed out that they weren't his either. Sara didn't respond verbally, instead giving a more animalistic rumble of agreement while he studied her with an almost feral look in his eyes. As much as Saracyn enjoyed the nice dinners and dates Avacyn set up for them, he couldn't deny there was a simple, base pleasure in just getting to kill and fuck. It was as primal and natural as one could get, as core to their DNA as their primitive ancestors. It felt like a true return to form when he got to cut loose like this—and he only ever got it with Scylla.

Scylla got settled, laying languidly across the stone and spread out for him like a five-star meal ready and waiting to be devoured. She asked what he would like to do now that their entertainment was concluded, and the way she spoke his name in a seductive breathy purr made tingles race down the dire brute's spine and settle between his thighs with a needy ache. Her perfume, the faux scent of heat, it was infectious and intoxicating, coaxing out his base animal urges and desires, an innate instinct to breed, to procreate and further his bloodline. He knew Scylla wasn't actually in heat, but his body didn't, nor did it care. It wanted Scylla beneath him. He wanted Scylla beneath him—and on top of him, and in every way he could have her. Thoughts of Avacyn weren't even present in his mind. He had come to this date knowing he was courting Scylla so they could have her be their surrogate. He knew what that entailed, and he had put her as the sole focus in his mind. This night was meant for her and for him and he was going to make that so.

Pushing the corpse of the dead dire wolf aside, Saracyn stalked closer to Scylla, piercing cerulean eyes fixed on her the entire time. The marking on his face, the gift from a demonic god, glowed in the moonlight, adding a silvery white sheen to those eyes as they remained locked to her, transfixed, obsessed. Saracyn didn't stop his approach until he was upon the small slate fae, her scent swirling in the air around him like an inescapable miasma. She had asked him what he wanted to do, and there was only one answer on the near-feral brute's mind. "You." The great crimson behemoth lifted a giant paw and caught Scylla's jaw in his pads, tilting her muzzle up to claim it with his own in a deeply passionate kiss. The brute wasted no time parting their lips and letting his large tongue slip into Scylla's tiny maw, tasting her for the first time ever. Her flavor mixed with the coppery tang of blood; it was an addictive cocktail that made his male bits throb with need. Scylla had set up this lovely evening for them. Now he was going to show her his appreciation in the only way his carnal instincts demanded.

"Saracyn" & "Scylla"