who goes there?

she doesn’t resist him, doesn’t fight to free herself or spit obscenities and that only angers him further. it’s as though she wriggles determinedly out of his every attempt to define her, to stamp a firm label on her forehead and push her into a neat little box. categorisation. for so long there’s only been three columns: family, pack, and enemies. but here she is, this little wisp of a girl breaking apart his careful constructions with little more than a glance. Styrmir gnashes his teeth, and a low growl rumbles up in his chest, beginning as a murmur and increasing with every second. he presses his cheek to hers, a paw still on her throat, and that growl reverberates through him and into her, a raucous orchestra of discontentment and spite. and something darker, hotter. something he dare not name. Styrmir shifts, and for a moment he imagines snapping her pretty neck and leaving her for dead. the thought is repulsive and appealing, a dichotomy swinging through him like a pendulum. the thought of her leaving, of pushing him away, makes him oddly furious. she belongs here, beneath him. contrarily, she should really be fucking off right about now, shouldn’t she?

Styrmir aims to rub his nose against her cheek, still growling, then withdraws with a sharp jerk of movement. “don’t come back here,” he snarls. “in fact, don’t let me ever see you again. because if i do, little shadow, i’ll destroy you. that’s a promise.” his jaws snap shut, and he lets her up a moment later, shifting his bulk so she can slip away. it makes him furious, her imminent departure, and that, in turn, is even more infuriating. witch. “and i always keep my promises.” he levels her with a look strong enough to flay skin from bone, then turns on his heel in blatant dismissal.

"Styrmir Trygg"