Addicted to this feelin'

The founding feast had been an enjoyable event, and though Hellborn was still small, the spirits of its members were strong and bright. Stolas had watched with approval as the wolves of the newly founded pack came together in celebration and merriment, eating and drinking and dancing well into the night. Now, as the hour drew late and everyone seemed to be reaching their limits, the party was winding down with wolves returning to their dens and beds. But not Stolas. The fallen prince was used to pulling all-nighters thanks to his studies. He was quite a bit inebriated from the liquors Widow had procured, and the massive brute wasn't feeling quite ready to turn in just yet—at least not alone. An introvert at heart, he'd spent a good portion of the party just observing the wolves of Hellborn interact, but his graphite gray eyes had lingered on one wolf far more than any other—Widow. The Klein brute simply couldn't keep his eyes off of her, watching her with pride and reverence as she played her role of alpha beautifully, mingling with her wolves like she were born to lead. He hadn't wanted to interrupt her in her element; besides, he knew his patience would pay off in dividends.

Sure enough, as the rest of the pack began to disperse, Stolas' gaze turned towards the massive wisteria tree, and to the midnight-clad fae lingering at the knoll at the base of the tree. Their gazes met, gray on silver, and then she was turning in to her den with a sultry smirk and an enticing sway of her hips. A devilish smirk lifted the corner of Stolas' lips as he watched and enjoyed her flagrant display of her sexuality. Well, she'd had any reservations about keeping their relationship out of the public eye, they'd clearly gone out the window. Downing the last of his drink in one deep swallow, Stolas rose to his paws (albeit a bit wobbly) and followed after her down into her den. Widow's den was a cozy space with an expansive bed of pillows and furs, where he found his midnight queen spread out, the picture of repose, looking like a Renaissance painting come to life. Stolas' breath caught when he saw her there waiting for him, meeting her half-lidded eyes with his own lecherous, alcohol-hazy gaze. In the confines of her den, Widow's heat scent was everywhere and inescapable. Every breath made the brute's core clench and a heat grow in his groin. It would only be a few more breaths before he was her slave once more.

Stalking towards Widow on her bed, Stolas came up behind the beautiful fae, holding her gaze while he came nearer. The massive brute stopped with his forelegs on either side of Widow's shapely hips, keeping their gazes locked while he lowered his muzzle to her lower back, letting sharp teeth gingerly groom and nibble through her fur along her spine going down, down, oh so slowly down her body. His alcohol-addled brain was floaty and foggy, but he had enough wherewithal to focus entirely on her; his friend, his lover, his queen. As Stolas' mouth reached the base of her tail, he nipped at the subtle curve of her rump, warm breath washing over her skin and fur dangerously close to her most intimate parts. "How would you have your consort tonight, Queen Widow?" he whispered in husky tones, his voice almost rumbling with his needy lust for her. However she wanted him, she would have him tonight. Would she ask for his muzzle beneath her tail? Would she have him mount her and press her face to the pillows like their primal ancestors? Would she want him on his back so she could assert her dominance over her consort? Any way she wanted, he was hers tonight.

"Stolas"