It was unsurprising that to a virgin, she felt like nothing he had ever known. She was perfect—her smell, her warmth, the heat that held onto him as he thrust into her with an almost fanatical speed. He grunted into the mouthful of fur he held, sucking in breaths where only her smell filled his head. There was only pleasure and a building and overwhelming need to take her for everything that she was. He held himself over her and gripped the earth. Larkspur growled and pinned his ears against his head.
Then came the voice of the can tah, the voice of Tak, and it screamed of prophecy and spoke in the tongue of the dead and filled his head with darkness and the single, deep pink source of light that he knew to be the ini. He released the ground and grabbed onto her shoulders, shoving her into the ground, shoving her closer to the place where Tak lay and slept. He made no noise, even as his fingers hooked into cruel talons and pulled down her back, cut into her black fur and sought to drew blood. He needed her, and he needed all of her now.
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