06-16-2009, 01:19 AM
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The pied brute tore mercilessly at her flesh, leaving it to be a shredded mess. But he was merciful—he did not tear away large chunks of flesh as he had with Onus. Whatever sadistic code of honor ran with the brute, he was always merciful with the females, even if they were the wretched females of these lands. Her blood did not satisfy the male. Her blood was not sweet and delightful to the crow wolf’s tongue but bitter, disgusting, as if it were rotting. And perhaps she was rotting. The entirety of these lands rotted about him as it shone in the sun. But this place...it was not worth his attention. Where he could have imbedded the Darkness within these soils, he did not. And his mind laughed that mirthless cacophony. Her squeals and words rang to her true character—it was the same taste as her blood.
He wanted her to beg. She had asked him to stop, but that was not begging. It was not the same. He tasted the low quality of her lifeblood as she struggled beneath him, tearing her own flesh against him. Then, finally his jaws released her, feeling the labor of her breathing beneath him. So terribly fragile, he sneered. But the emotionless façade was untouched, those beautiful, almost effeminate features made terrible by that coldness. The pied brute rose above her, his tail raised in dominance as his maw traced along her neck. "You love life so dearly?" The cold, tenor voice dripped in mockery. "Beg for it," the brute commanded. "Beg, and I may give you my mercy." The black eyes pierced the lighter colors of the other, challenging her to do otherwise. His jaws were still hungering, not for her blood but for her life.
The pied brute tore mercilessly at her flesh, leaving it to be a shredded mess. But he was merciful—he did not tear away large chunks of flesh as he had with Onus. Whatever sadistic code of honor ran with the brute, he was always merciful with the females, even if they were the wretched females of these lands. Her blood did not satisfy the male. Her blood was not sweet and delightful to the crow wolf’s tongue but bitter, disgusting, as if it were rotting. And perhaps she was rotting. The entirety of these lands rotted about him as it shone in the sun. But this place...it was not worth his attention. Where he could have imbedded the Darkness within these soils, he did not. And his mind laughed that mirthless cacophony. Her squeals and words rang to her true character—it was the same taste as her blood.
He wanted her to beg. She had asked him to stop, but that was not begging. It was not the same. He tasted the low quality of her lifeblood as she struggled beneath him, tearing her own flesh against him. Then, finally his jaws released her, feeling the labor of her breathing beneath him. So terribly fragile, he sneered. But the emotionless façade was untouched, those beautiful, almost effeminate features made terrible by that coldness. The pied brute rose above her, his tail raised in dominance as his maw traced along her neck. "You love life so dearly?" The cold, tenor voice dripped in mockery. "Beg for it," the brute commanded. "Beg, and I may give you my mercy." The black eyes pierced the lighter colors of the other, challenging her to do otherwise. His jaws were still hungering, not for her blood but for her life.