[private] a rematch

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

He is not surprised to find that she answers his attack so quickly. Not surprised that she stands up as a match to him. For all of the lightness to her—all of the peace and beauty—there was always something beneath the surface that screamed of something more, something that spoke of a darkness that he could truly understand. It was the only thing that made her truly interesting to him; the only thing that kept her from being filed away in the endless depths of those who simply lived in the light their whole lives.

But she does not.

She calls for him, she provokes the attack, and she answers.

He grins as her paw comes up and pushes at his face, as the claws dig into the skin and rip. He howls but the cry is as much of a joyous sound as it is a cry of agony. He grins as the blood drips down the black velvet and touches his tongue—as he feels the thrill of battle race through him once more.

They fall together, and he gladly rolls with her, feeling the earth against his back. He doesn’t stop though. He continues to roll and then springs up, agile in this form, familiar in this body, before he launches forward again, his powerful hindquarters driving him into her as quickly as possible.

This time, he comes forward with teeth first, reaching for her neck.

The skin is thick there, but that doesn’t change the primal desire to sink his teeth into her. To find the blood beneath it and let the copper of it flood over his tongue. It doesn’t matter to him that she already knits together her skin and he cannot. It doesn’t matter that her body rejuvenates itself even as they tangle together and his body would bear the scars for weeks after. He was used to scars. He was used to the pain.

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING