Alastor was not in a particularly good mood. Besides his continued issues with Relm being distant and the implosion of their pseudo-relationship, now poachers had started hitting some of the herds in Elysium lands. These poor unfortunate souls had caught the Commander in a bad mood, so the great dire wolf was headed out to do the dirty work himself. It had been a long, long time since he had taken the lives of other wolves—not since he and Manea had founded their pack and started their family—and the shadow and blood brute was greatly looking forward to getting to vent some of his anger out on some more deserving beings. The Mendacium had fully intended to go out and handle this matter on his own, but on his way out of the pack, his son's not-girlfriend had stopped him. Maybe she sensed his ire. Maybe she could detect his violent impulses and wanted in on the action. Or maybe she was just bored and needed something to do. Either way, when the tiny slate and cream fae asked to come along with him, Alastor was taken by surprise. His initial instinct was to refuse her. Nobody needed to see him in that kind of state, especially after what had happened with Relm. But despite his hesitance, Scylla was gung-ho on coming with him.

That was how the giant brute and petite fae wound up walking through the maze of broken ruins and overgrown foliage in the twilight hours of the mild spring day. Despite his size, Alastor's masterful hunting skills allowed him to move almost silently through the grass and rubble like a wraith. Obsidian eyes remained focused and steely on the path ahead, each step he took swift yet methodical. He could smell the other wolves on the wind, the gentle breeze bringing their scents towards flared nostrils, drinking up the smell of the inevitable kills with a feverish excitement he had forgotten he harbored deep inside. The animal within him began to stir; the hunt was on. Rounding a fallen pillar, the bright orange glow of a campfire could be seen bouncing off the surrounding stone and the muted sounds of indistinct conversation rose in the still night air above the chirp of crickets. There were multiple raiders; likely to be a marauding party for a rogue band of wolves trying to scrounge off the excess bounty of Elysium. They had made a grave mistake taking their chances.

Prowling around the fallen stones, Alastor eventually found his way around to where he could spy the poachers. There were a half dozen of them, relaxing around a campfire and gnawing on the bones of their freshly stolen kill. From the shadows, Alastor watched the wolves, all males and all looking disgustingly pleased with themselves. They thought they had gotten away with their trespasses scot-free. Oh, how wrong they were... The only thing that kept Alastor from charging blindly in there with fangs and claws out was Scylla at his side. He had to consider the Klein girl's safety in this as well. He wasn't concerned for himself, but for her... "Are you sure you want to be part of this?" he asked the younger woman in husky whispers, shooting her a warning glance. He did not want to expose her to the macabre and wanton violence he was likely to wreak on these unsuspecting brutes. But if she wished to stay, he would not turn her away. He looked down to Scylla, a brow raised as if to ask "what next?" in case she had a plan beyond just running in guns blazing.

"Alastor Mendacium"

Alastor hadn't been the only one to learn of the intruders on Elysium territory. Scylla had come upon them just that day. Thanks to her small size and the adrenaline pumping through the marauders as they felled a fat, Elysium deer, the woman had gone undetected. She knew that they were making a fatal mistake, but they didn't. Not yet. They'd find out soon enough though.

It didn't seem as though the wolves would be going anywhere, so Scylla quietly departed the clearing where they'd begun to feed and made her way back to the mountain. They would be the perfect specimens to try one of her new poisons on and she was quite excited to test them. Plans changed, however. As the svelte fae came into the common area, blue and grey eyes landed upon the brooding form of Alastor. The big man was in a mood and, when she asked why, he told her that he too had learned of the intruders. In fact, he was on his way to dispatch them. Scylla's long tail lashed back and forth and a grin spread on her maw. Oh... this was going to be fun.

The hulking giant and the tiny fairy of a woman made their way to the steppe with ease. Alastor knew where he was going so Scylla didn't tell him that she'd been there before. The trail of scents and deer blood was clear enough to follow. They'd made no attempt to hide their scalping of Elysium livestock. The group of wolves rested around a bonfire, even more evidence that they didn't give a fuck about their act of theft. Oooo, they were going to pay and she was going to enjoy it.

As they watched their prey milling about and conversing jovially, Alastor leaned in to ask Scylla if she wanted to be a part of this. It was so very difficult to keep from laughing aloud, so the tiny woman brought one dexterous paw up to cover her mouth. Mismatched eyes lifted with mirth and Scylla shook her head, reaching out to gently pat one of the behemoths dark paws. "Are you sure that you want to be a part of this?" the fae quipped in return. Rising to her paws the blue and cream fae stretched her neck up to place a quick peck on the man's cheek. "Enjoy yourself, Alastor. I surely will."

Peeling away from the hidden man, Scylla cut around the steppe, coming out into the clearing from the opposite side. Ever the actress, her cobalt ribcage rose and fell as she pretended to breathe heavily. The group looked up, their heads turning to look upon the woman. "Help," she squeaked out, "There's a monster!" With fake worry, the diminutive fae looked behind her as she slowly backed closer to the group. There were five in total and the hunger that they had for the deer was quickly turning to hunger for something else. Ever observant, Scylla noted the changes in their demeanor, the sharp grins, the lashing tails, the way that they all rose to sit or stand. All eyes were on her. That was exactly what she wanted.

One of the wolves, a dire sized male that was brown and white in color, stepped towards her, scooping the little fae close to him with one thick foreleg. Scylla could feel the thick muscles in his chest and excitement thrummed through her. They never had any idea. "Oh yeah, we'll keep you safe," the brute drawled before looking to the rest of his friends. "Won't we, boys?" The rest agreed and they began to draw in closer, but stayed back enough for the brown brute to assumedly have his way with her first. "What kind of monster?" A paw snaked around to Scylla's rump, giving her a squeeze which brought a fake gasp from the little fae. Eyes wide with 'fear,' Scylla motioned for the man to bring his head lower. He did so and she whispered in his ear. "Me."

There was little chance for the brute to show his confusion. The serpentine dagger had already slid from the bracer upon the fae's wrist. With a push, the razor sharp blade parted the man's throat like water. Jerking the blade to the side struck an artery and claret sprayed forth, spattering Scylla's coat. Four left. As the brown and white man dropped to the ground dead, the fae turned to the group, a smile on her maw. "Let's play, boys!"

"Scylla"

Alastor was wildly confused by the enthusiasm and amusement Scylla showed not only in tagging along to be a part of this murderfest but also at his own warning and attempts to look out for her wellbeing. He looked to the tiny pixie of a wolf at his side when she patted his paw and turned the question back on him. What the fuck did that even mean? She was a weird wolf, but Alastor did not get much time to linger on that thought before she was pressing an innocent kiss to his cheek that momentarily dumbfounded the giant brute before off she went traipsing straight into the fray. For a moment, Alastor watched the scene unfold before him while Scylla wove a tail and acted her tail off, luring the poachers into a false sense of dominance and security. Ordinarily he would have been worried about her going straight in like that, but he reminded himself that Scylla was not a child, nor was she his child. He was no more responsible for her than he was anyone else.

The dire brute saw the way those scavengers looked at her; lecherous gleams in their sickening gazes and sharklike grins on their faces. Ebony lips peeled back from deadly fangs. None of them would get their chance. When the time was right and the wolves began to encircle Scylla and put their paws on her, Alastor rose from his hiding spot and strode into the camp behind their quarry. Despite his size and bulk, Alastor demonstrated his skills as a natural hunter, moving like a silent shadow in the dark, only the occasional flicker of firelight showing he had moved at all. Like a scene out of a horror movie, the light would illuminate his steady approach towards the wolf closest to him like a freeze frame, appearing closer and closer until he was right behind the much smaller, scrawnier wolf. A runner in the hunting pack, designed to tire their prey but not to bring it down. He never stood a chance.

As soon as Scylla made her move and cut the throat of the ringleader, the other wolves jerked back in shock and anger, fangs bared at the tiny slate fae. "Get he-" The brute's voice was cut off with a gurgling gasp as one giant black paw wrapped tight around his throat, and then sharp razors burrowed into his flesh, piercing meat and veins. The wolf glanced up in horror, seeing the hulking dire brute looming over him like the angel of death. Alastor snarled, squeezed his paw tighter until he felt tendons pop in the wolf's throat while he gagged and choked, eyes wide in abject horror, unable to scream for help or beg for mercy. Alastor savored the look of terror on the wolf's face just before he parted his jaws and clamped them down around the smaller brute's head, engulfing the upper part of his foe's cranium in his maw. The wolf tried to scream again, a gurgling feral sound of panic all that came out while he kicked and flailed, fighting for his life, but it was far too late.

With a sickening crunch of teeth and bone, Alastor snapped his jaws closed, using his unnaturally strong muscles to fully bisect the poacher's head and rip the upper part of his skull away in a spray of gore and gray matter. The wolf's body jerked and instantly went limp as nerves lost contact with a brain that was no longer there. By now, the other three had noticed the monstrous wolf behind them and what he had done, gazing at Alastor in sheer terror like they had seen the devil himself. "What the fuck?!" one of them shouted. Alastor responded only by tossing the limp body to the ground and spitting the bloody pulp of lupine skull from his mouth. The coppery taste of fresh blood on his tongue triggered his primal senses, and the feral animal inside his brain broke free of its cage. Eyes widened, pupils dilated, and Alastor reared up to his full height, blood dripping from parted jaws as he eyed the wolves like a predator studying his prey. The animal was loose.

Finding the giant wolf to be the greater threat, two of the three remaining poachers diverted their attention to Alastor. Both of these wolves were larger than their friend—not quite the leader, but definitely part of the takedown crew. They tried to strafe Alastor, going in different directions while the third tended to the much smaller Scylla, falsely assuming she would be an easier target. Alastor's gaze was laser focused on the wolves, watching them move about him until they had separated themselves for him. Alastor snarled and rushed the smaller of the two, immediately throwing his weight against the wolf with jaws snapping ferociously at his face, head, and neck, biting at any part of his opponent he could reach. The wolf tried to fight back with snarls and snaps of his own, but he was no match for Alastor's sheer size and strength.

Alastor continued to push the wolf back and back, driving him backwards until the wolf hit one of the stone pillars. With his back to a wall, all Alastor had to do was find his opening. That opening came when the wolf foolishly tried to lunge for him in an attempt to push him back. Alastor intercepted the wolf's bite with a giant paw, lodging his paw in the wolf's jaws. His foe's fangs sank into his digits, but Alastor barely felt a thing. The flashes of pain felt like rushes of ecstasy coursing through his system, the agony an aphrodisiac of the highest order to the feral animal. This was what it meant to be alive!

Alastor grinned, a menacing flash of his lethal teeth. The wolf realized his mistake too late. He couldn't withdraw, he couldn't get away. Alastor had sacrificed a few bites to his leg to ensure a solid grasp on his foe. Sharp siam claws extended from his toes and gripped the wolf's cheeks and jaws from around the bite, gripping the panicking wolf in an inescapable hold. The wolf thrashed, trying to pull away, but Alastor held his foe's head firm. With animalistic snarls, Alastor jerked the wolf towards him, then slammed his paw forward to bash his opponent's head against the unrelenting stone pillar, shivering with an almost carnal delight at the fleshy thud sound it made when the wolf's skull hit the stone.

The first hit dazed the wolf, his eyes rolling in his head. The second hit made the wolf's body jerk and twitch. The third hit left behind a splatter of blood on the stone. Then came the forth. The fifth. The sixth. Each blow left more blood on the stone and less skull on the back of the wolf's head until there was a sickening squishing sound with each strike. But before he could finish the second wolf off, his friend leaped onto Alastor's back, biting and clawing at the dire wolf. Alastor snarled and dropped the twitching wolf to the ground, bucking and thrashing to try and throw his new opponent off of his back and escape the fangs and claws that were tearing into his back.

"Alastor Mendacium"

The curtain parted and the scene in the clearing began to unfold like some wonderous play. Alastor did his part and the screams and calls erupted like a symphony. The wet squelching of visceral tearing brought a smile to the striped fae's face and she breathed a soft sigh of pleasure. She knew that Alastor would be the one. Just by the sheer look of anger and fury on his face at knowing that his home had been infiltrated... she knew. As the spectacle began, Scylla was glad that the man wouldn't disappoint.

Grey and blue eyes watched as the black and red giant decimated his opponents. It was terribly arousing and the tiny fae simply couldn't peel her gaze away from him as Alastor let his beast free. It was glorious. He was glorious. His actions, though backed by bloodlust, were precise. Each strike and bite was delivered expertly. This wasn't his first rodeo, nor was this hers. Though young, Scylla was a little butcher. A murderer. Being strong enough to steal the life from another with your own paws... it was orgasmic. Sure, some day she might very well meet her match but... that was what it meant to be alive.

Though Scylla watched Alastor as he tore the poachers to shreds, she was still very well aware of her surroundings. She hadn't forgotten about the final brute that was now creeping up behind her. The diminutive woman spun, eyes wide and pleading. "Please don't hurt me," she begged, hunkering down and drawing that oh so long tail in against her body. Ears tucked as she kept her gaze on the poachers face. "He said he'd kill me if I didn't." With such a game, it was easy to force tears to her eyes. The man was sold. "Come with me," he told her. "We can get away while he's busy." A normal wolf would have felt bad at the deception, but Scylla was anything but normal. Chalk it up to her true lineage, if you want, but this was all so very exquisite to the slate and cream fae.

As the man began to slink away, expecting her to follow, Scylla outwardly sighed and slid her dagger from its sheath. The woman was obsessive about keeping her blades clean and razor edge sharp, so any time she used them, they cut through flesh like water. Yet another scream echoed throughout the stones and the man fell to the ground thrashing. Both Achilles tendons had been cut clean through, rendering his hind legs useless. "Why?" He asked through gritted teeth as he tried in vain to drag himself away with his front paws. After cleaning the blade with the brutes own tail, Scylla returned it to its home at her wrist. Why, he had asked. The little dame tilted her head as though considering the query. "That's a good question. It could have many answers." One striped shoulder lifted in a half hearted shrug. In the end, there was only one answer that Scylla could truthfully give. "Why not?"

The hobbled wolf wasn't going anywhere fast, so Scylla left him for now, turning her full attention back to Alastor. It pleased her to be able to share this experience with him. It pleased her that he hadn't tried to stop her from joining or tried to stop her from heading out into the group on her own. Blue coat spattered red, Scylla found a raised ledge of rock and slid out to lay on her slender stomach. The woman's long, luxurious tail flicked back and forth over the stone like a pleased kitten. She was looking forward to seeing what Alastor did with the poacher on his back. She was also curious what he'd do with the hobbled one when presented with his gift. The man wouldn't put up much of a fight since his hind legs were useless. Scylla wondered if Al would dispatch the man quickly or if he'd get creative. Oh... she hoped he was the creative type! A little shudder ran through the lady's lithe frame and she crossed her bloody paws to wait and watch.

"Scylla"

Shouts of frenzied panic sputtered from the brute atop of Alastor's back as the dire wolf bucked him about like a wild mustang who refused to be broken. All the poacher could do at this point was hold on to Alastor's hide for dear life. If he let go, he would surely be thrown and pounced upon by the behemoth before he knew what had happened. He just had to pray the older dire brute tired before he lost his grip. Unfortunately for the poacher, though Alastor was no spring chicken, he was still in prime shape, a paragon of fitness for his age, and he was still capable of outlasting and outperforming his sad excuse for a wolf. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to buck his foe from him, Alastor got creative. Obsidian eyes scanned his environment for a way to leverage the fight in his favor. A quick glimpse at some jagged stone from a broken pillar gave him a spark of inspiration, and with a malevolent grin, the massive ebony wolf went charging towards it. The wolf on his back bit into his scruff, trying to subdue him, but Alastor barely felt it beneath the rush of adrenaline and endorphins. This was what he lived for! The thrill of the hunt, the heat of battle, the delight of stealing another's life! It was his most favorite game.

The wolf on his back realized far too late what was going on as Alastor charged straight at the broken pillar. He tried to dislodge himself, but Alastor was already throwing himself at the rock, twisting to go sailing backwards into the jagged stone. The poacher wound up crushed between the massive brute and sharp stone, his back breaking with a sickening crunch and squish of flesh being punctured. Alastor slumped forward and turned to find his attack much more effective than he had expected. The poacher was still hanging from the jagged rock, jutting out pieces of crumbling pillar impaled into his back to hang him like a macabre art piece. Paws hung limp at his sides, his sides expanding and collapsing in rapid succession as he gasped for breath, eyes and head moving about in a panic. That was when Alastor realized the truth—he had paralyzed the other wolf by breaking his spine on the rock. Though he was alive, his body was all but useless to him now. A dark glee gleamed in the Mendacium brute's eyes while he stalked towards his incapacitated prey like a predator, growling low in his throat with sharp fangs bared in imminent threat. The brute gave pathetic whimpers and whines, pleading for mercy from the monster that drew ever nearer. He would find none in those empty abyssal eyes.

Alastor lifted his forelegs to plant his paws on the broken pillar to either side of the wolf, standing on hind legs while he studied his victim, leaning in mockingly close, but never enough for the paralyzed wolf to attempt a snap at him. Then the dire brute pressed a paw to the wolf's chest, flexed his digits until razor sharp gemstone claws tore into flesh and muscle, and with an agonizingly slow pull of his muscled foreleg, Alastor began to open the poacher's underbelly like unzipping a jacket. Flesh tore and ripped with wet tearing sounds, blood spilling freely down to the earth, and gradually the poacher's insides began to spill out of his open abdominal cavity, steaming in the cool night air. The brute was already dead, his body just hadn't realized it yet. Paralyzed, he could feel nothing except the dulled pull of his body being eviscerated alive and the hazy weariness that came the tremendous blood loss. Alastor stopped just above the wolf's groin, giving an especially hard yank of his paw free to mangle the mwolf’s male parts in a final act of emasculation before the blood-soaked dire brute hopped back down and turned back to the carnage, letting the dying poacher's final view be his backside as he slunk away into the darkness to finish off his friends.

Coming back around to the campfire, Alastor's tenebrous gaze swept over the bloodbath that the camp had become. Bodies lay strewn about, the fresh spring grasses drenched in fresh blood and the stench of copper hanging in the air from the sheer amount of spilled viscera. He counted the bodies around him—then heard the whining grunt of a live wolf nearby. Like a hawk, the predator's head snapped about to fix the crippled wolf with a lethal glare. The last poacher was trying to crawl away, hamstringed by Scylla. His feeble escape was little more than the last ditch efforts of a doomed creature desperately trying to cling to life. Alastor's expression remained hard and volatile like a ruthless executioner as he drew down on the fallen wolf, fast strides putting him over his fallen foe in mere moments. The wolf saw the shadow loom over him, then looked up into the black form of Alastor. "Please..." he pleaded, raising a paw in surrender, hoping for mercy. Alastor responded by snapping his jaws down on that paw, snapping it at the wrist with a crunch of bone. The poacher screamed in pain as Alastor dragged him across the ground, bringing him back over to the campsite. These wolves had wanted Elysium's deer so badly, then he'd gladly give them what they wanted. Dragging the flailing poacher over to their pile of kills, Alastor tossed the wolf up across one of the poached bucks with a sizable rack of antlers. His foe tried to push and fight him off, but to no avail. Alastor grabbed the wolf's head with his paw, sharp claws digging into his scalp to secure his hold, and lifted the wolf up over those sharp antlers. The poacher tried to protest, to beg, to say anything—but his words were swiftly cut off as Alastor pressed his head down onto the buck's antlers.

There was a sickening squelch as flesh was impaled, and then a popping as the antlers stabbed their way through the unfortunate brute's skull and neck. Bits of skull and brain matter dangled from the antlers as they protruded out the back of the wolf's head, jutting through the soft palate of his maw and through his esophagus, just narrowly missing his spine so the wolf wouldn't receive the sweet mercy of paralysis. Those cries for compassion changed into gurgling sounds of horror as the wolf's mouth and throat filled with its own blood, drowning it while it dangled from the buck's antlers in a grotesque fashion. The fight was over; the wolf was dead even before his body had expired. Even if he managed to pry himself free, the damage was fatal and he would bleed out in seconds. But just for good measure, Alastor kept his paw pressing down on the wolf's head, ever so slowly sinking him further and further down those antlers with wet ripping sounds until the wolf's head had met the dead buck's. By that point, the poacher had stopped kicking and his gurgling sounds had ceased as well. He was dead. That just left one more to go.

Abandoning the corpse, Alastor returned to the wolf he'd beaten silly against the pillar. The poor wretch was still a twitching, bleeding mess on the ground, clearly braindead and just waiting for the merciful release of death now. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his breathing shallow, and his movements volatile and erratic. He was nothing more than a husk imprisoning a soul that yearned for the end. Even in his animalistic state, Alastor realized there was no fight left in this creature. He dragged the twitching body back over to the campsite to the light of the fire and put the wolf on his back so he could straddle the struggling being and put him out of his misery. Staring down with an almost erotic glee in his obsidian eyes, Alastor wrapped both of his paws around the wolf's throat and slowly applied pressure until his digits were compressing down around the wolf's windpipe with unyielding force. The wolf's body twitched and struggled, but there was no conscious effort to fight off the dire brute that was leisurely snuffing out his life. These were merely the death throes of a creature long past its expiration.

With that manic grin creeping across his dark lips, Alastor stared unblinking down at the wolf's face as it choked and writhed, vacant eyes staring unseeing up into space as they grew dimmer with each second he was deprived of oxygen. Alastor's breathing deepened, his body tensed and quivering with an almost carnal delight as he watched and felt the fight slowly ebbing away from his final victim, paws crushing down around the poacher's throat harder, harder... so hard he could feel the beat of the wolf's heart in the arteries beneath squeezing pads. It grew weaker and weaker, the poacher's twitching slowing, until finally the body lay still and those vacant eyes turned to glass and saw no more. There was no death rattle, no wheeze of a final breath as Alastor choked the life from him. When it was all over, Alastor continued to grip around the dead wolf's throat until he was sure he was gone, quivering with barely contained and borderline wanton glee at the thrill of taking the lives of those who had wronged his family in much the same way he received a primal lecherous pleasure whenever he choked and roughed up Manea in their throes of passion. Breathing a slow, shuddering sigh, Alastor released the corpse from his grasp and flopped back onto his haunches, grinning muzzle tipped back towards the sky as he reveled in the afterglow of battle, splattered in the blood of others while dripping his own from a few fresh, nonfatal wounds. Gods, that had felt so good...!

"Alastor Mendacium"

Grey and blue eyes watched, hungrily eating in the scene that unfolded before her like some grand play. From the moment that she met Alastor, Scylla had known that there was a beast within him. She had simply been looking for an opportunity to see that beast firsthand. The black and red giant didn't disappoint her.

Though Scylla would take pleasure in stealing the lives of the poachers, it brought her greater pleasure to watch Alastor be free. She was quite capable of being civilized, but there was something about following ones baser nature that thrilled the Klein fae. To bring about death was the most natural thing in the world. To protect ones home was also natural. To set an example for any others that might get the idea to try their paw at the same, well... that was just a bonus.

The snapping of bones and the squelching of blood and guts filled the air like music and Scylla released a small sigh of pleasure akin to one that a normal wolf might release when thinking of a lover. Yes, she was abnormal, but she knew that and she didn't care. Only around one with equally bloody taste was she able to breathe and let down the carefully cultivated mask. Wouldn't Albion and Cerberus be shocked if they saw her like this? Of course they would.

In time, Alastors bloody spree came to an end, but only because there were no more breathing bodies aside from her own. Scylla had no doubt that the man would go through an army of wolves if they'd been in front of him. It was a pity that there hadn't been more poachers. The striped fae could have watched the bloodshed forever.

From her place upon the rock, Scylla watched. The end of the show had brought Alastor somewhat close to her location. Close enough for him to hear her anyway. The little woman cracked a grin, her chin resting on one outstretched foreleg. The fae's long tail slithered back and forth languidly across the stone behind her. "You looked like you needed that. Do you feel better?" Mismatched ears swiveled forward to catch any words that he might speak. Scylla continued to lay there like some satiated, sun baked feline, though her gaze was all for Alastor. She wouldn't make a move out of respect for the man's wife, whom she quite liked, but if he made a pass at her, well... how could she ever say no to that?

"Scylla"

As that post-battle wave of ecstasy washed over Alastor while his body burned off the lingering adrenaline in his bloodstream, the gargantuan brute reveled in the feeling of absolute bliss and liveliness. Very few things titillated the demon inside him quite like stealing the life from a hapless victim, and he'd just enjoyed that carnage sixfold. Pink tongue rolled over ebony lips, clearing off the blood that dripped from his muzzle. That delicious flavor of copper and iron danced on his tastebuds, activating the primal chemical reaction inside his damaged brain that fed his inner animal. A shudder visibly rippled down Alastor's spine, his fur standing on end like there was static in the air. Oh gods, that had felt so good! But even after all the murder and bloodshed, Alastor still felt that tension in his core as another hunger and lust of his remained unslaked. Truly there was nothing quite like fucking after a good battle, a pastime he and Manea often enjoyed together. However, this time around the dire brute's mate was nowhere nearby. But there was another fae who was...

As if on cue, the alluring tones of Scylla's voice spoke out to him from her perch atop the stone she was resting on. Alastor's obsidian eyes slowly opened, his head turning to peer over at the lithe little fae spread out like she were a sunbathing feline, meeting her intrigued heterochromatic gaze with one of his own still clouded with a haze of primal hunger. Ravenous eyes drank in Scylla's slender frame with dark desire, roaming over shapely curves and smooth, supple planes with lecherous appreciation. It wasn't all Alastor in that carnal gaze, but he also wasn't absent from it either. The Mendacium brute was a primal creature at nature, and though it was the animalistic side of the brute at the helm right now, there was no denying the awareness that was still in those ebony pools that leered out at the slate and cream fae, ready to pounce on her and devour her in all the best ways. She asked him if he felt better and the dire wolf responded with a guttural growl. In some ways he did, and in others he still felt uncomfortably wound up. But he knew just how to release that tension building inside his core, tightening like a spring threatening to explode.

"Not yet," came the growled response of Alastor, his tones rough and deep like he was battling against his baser urges. He knew Scylla was not off limits. He knew Manea had had the little fae to herself after their drunken girls night, and while that hadn't made the dire brute jealous per se, it had let him know that the Klein fae was fair game for them. Rising off the bloodied body of his last kill, Alastor stalked his way over to the rock where she lay, large pink tongue rolling over his muzzle to clean and collect the remnants of blood from his fur. He didn't think Scylla had any problem getting bloody, but he was also still a gentleman and didn't want to get the lady unnecessarily messy—not yet at least. Inky black eyes held her mismatched jewels, never looking away until he had come right up to the rock, so tall that he could easily bring his face closer to hers. Nares flared as he breathed in her scent—sweet, clean, feminine. Delicious.

Unable to resist himself, the giant of a brute lifted one large onyx paw to wrap around the back of the slender fae's head. She was so small, so delicate compared to the monstrous wolf. A part of him feared he would break her. A stronger part of him didn't care as he brought his muzzle forward to claim her mouth in a heated kiss. Alastor growled deep in his gullet, a rumble of delight as his tongue pushed into Scylla's maw, sampling her taste with curiosity and hunger. Dark eyes closed, heartbeat pounding in his head... or was that the monster trying to break free again? Alastor couldn't be sure. The paw on the back of her head squeezed, just enough to demonstrate some of his strength to Scylla. The animal wanted her to know just how much raw power it possessed in this body and just what he could do to her. Alastor parted his muzzle from hers after a few long moments, eyes snapping open and gleaming with barely contained lust. He couldn't hold back anymore. "If you don't want this... start running." This was the last warning Alastor could give to Scylla before he lost control. Even if she ran, he would likely chase her down, but at least the agile fae had a chance of getting away from him. If she stayed any longer, then Scylla would be about to find out why Manea had been so quick to take him as her mate.

"Alastor Mendacium"

As he reveled in the aftermath of the massacre, Scylla watched. The slate and cream woman held court upon her throne of stone like some great queen, though she didn't hold to such lofty ideals. She was pleased with herself, however. Very pleased. Scylla felt as though she had orchestrated this little encounter perfectly. Why had she gone to the trouble? Well, she simply wanted someone to come out and play with her. Alastor had been the lucky man and so here they were.

After she posed her question, Alastor answered. The knowledge that there was more to come sent little tingles up the fae's spine and she released a soft hum of pleasure at the thought. The gargantuan man, all shadows and blood, stalked towards her. A normal wolf may have felt fear as he came towards them, so very much the predator. Scylla was not a normal wolf. There was nothing in her but excitement and anticipation. Married or no, she knew that they would end the day wrapped up in one another.

A paw hooked around the back of her skull, bringing their lips crashing together. Teeth, hers or his, cut into her lip and the flavor mixed with the blood that had already marinated upon his tongue. A dainty paw moved up to his chest, nimble toes gliding through the blood soaked fur. She wasn't afraid to get dirty. In fact, by the end of this, she hoped that they were both filthy.

Alastor pulled back and they both caught their breath. He gave her the option to run and Scylla's brows rose for but a moment. "Alastor, why do you think I brought you all the way out here?" A dark little chuckle left the blue fae and the digits that were sifting through his fur fisted within them. Though she was small, Scylla gave his fur a tug, moving the big man towards her just enough so that she could lick the blood off of his lower lip. "I'll run if you want to chase, but it wouldn't be out of fear." Again the woman's hot little tongue flicked over his maw. "I'm yours for the evening, big guy, so you tell me how you want me." You couldn't say that she wasn't generous.

"Scylla Klein"

Scylla reacted wonderfully when Alastor kissed her hard and deep, those dainty little flexible toes gripping onto his chest fur in ways that sent lovely little tingles racing down his spine. She was a delectable little minx, the taste of both her mouth and her blood setting off fireworks inside his brain as primal chemicals reacted with one another, bringing about the feral beast that laid dormant inside his fractured mind. She showed no fear of him, holding him and kissing him back without any apprehension. It made Alastor's core clench hard, that hot lust surging through his bloodstream and causing more noticeable parts of him to react. He was a massive brute; there would be no hiding of anything even amongst all his flowing fur.

When Scylla showed her surprise to his warning and asked him the very simple question of why he thought she'd brought him out here, the pieces of the Klein fae's subtlety began to fall into place. Obsidian eyes held the mismatched jewels of the younger fae's. She would likely see his brain working it out in his frenzied state. He had initially believed she had just wanted to cut down a few poachers with him because they both shared a macabre interest in murder and death, but now realization was dawning on him. Alastor knew Manea had already had Scylla during their ladies' night some time back, but the notion that the svelte little seductress would set her sights on getting tangled up with him hadn't crossed the dire brute's mind. But now as she grinned at him and pulled her dexterous digits through his silky fur it all became crystal clear.

Alastor felt Scylla tug him closer by his fur, bringing him just that much closer so that she could run her tongue along his lower lip. The dire brute's whole body gave a lecherous shiver as she pulled a guttural groan from him. Gods, she was riling him up...! Her tongue flicked over his mouth again while she told him she would run if he wished, though it would not be fear spurring her on. The fur on the back of Alastor's neck bristled a bit at the prospect of getting to chase down this salacious young fae, the predator inside his brain gnashing its teeth as it imagined getting to run her down and have its way with her. Scylla gave herself over to him for the evening, and then left the decision up to him. The Mendacium man was stunned for a brief moment while he considered his options. He knew he would not be going back home tonight. Tonight, he and Scylla would ravage each other wild, leaving both wolves undoubtedly sore and spent by dawn. The only question was how they would get there.

It was the animalistic Alastor that won that debate in the end. He was a lecherous brute, and as long as Scylla stayed around Elysium he had the inkling that this would likely not be the only time they found themselves fucking each other. But how many times would they get the opportunity to do so when he was high on his bloodlust and fresh from a massacre? With a ravenous growl rumbling in his throat, Alastor pressed forward until he had shoved his nose into the side of Scylla's neck, finding where her pulse was the strongest and breathing in deep her sweet, feminine scent. Sampling her, memorizing her. She was about to be his prey, after all.

Alastor exhaled with a shuddering sigh as if he had just taken a hit of a powerful drug, thick pink tongue gliding across pearly fangs in eager anticipation. Now that he had her scent swirling in his brain and nares, tracking her down would be child's play. "Let's play some more, Scylla, and then you'll get to meet the animal you want." He was telling her to keep their game going, to give him a reason to chase her down and let the beast loose. This was what she wanted, after all. Drawing back so she could see the way his dark eyes pinned as he stared at her, already feeling his blood run hot as he imagined what she'd look like pinned beneath him, what she'd sound like as he filled her, Alastor uttered one last word.

"Run."

"Alastor Mendacium"

Alastor reacted perfectly to her pets and touches, the sound emanating from the man sending little tingles up Scylla's spine. She liked to hear the noises that she could elicit from her lovers. It let her know whether she was doing a good job or a great job. The black and red giant gave her sweet growls that reverberated through the blue woman's small frame. She loved that sensation. There wasn't a wolf in the world that was as confident as Scylla, so there was no fear of her companion, only sweet, sweet anticipation.

When given the option of whether or not to chase her, it seemed to shock the man for a moment. Obsidian eyes went wide before his primal brain caught up. He chose the chase. Of course he did. The thought of chasing her down obviously excited the brute for he buried his nose in the side of her neck. Scylla tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. Ever the generous lover, eh? Al wanted to play, so play, they would. He spoke of letting her meet his beast, but Scylla wanted to go one step further.

Run, he instructed. Scylla rose to her paws, staring down at the bloodied giant before her. Mmm... not bloodied enough. He had tasted her blood, but she hadn't tasted his. Hardly fair, right? "A kiss to speed me on my way," the woman purred. Leaning forward, Scylla met Alastors lips with her own. The kiss was deep as she plunged her tongue into his maw. Once more she tasted the blood of their enemies, but she had something else in mind. As she pulled back, tiny, sharp teeth sank into the brutes lower lip, instantly piercing the flesh. His blood mixed with her own and a moan of pleasure ripped from the blue woman. Eyes rolled back for just a moment and she felt as though she might explode just from this sharing of blood alone. She held back, of course. There was much more fun to be had before she allowed herself release. Much more fun.

The moment that Scylla jerked her mouth back from his, she pivoted on her paws and disappeared into the darkness. Small and quick, she darted between rocks and trees, sliding her little body through nooks and crannies that Alastor could never dream of fitting through. The woman's heart pounded in her chest as she rode the high of bloodlust. With Alastors blood still enveloping her tastebuds, Scylla ran. She ran and she let the anticipation build within her. Gods... did she hope that he would give her what she craved.

"Scylla"