if not a god, than what?

—set a couple days after meeting sin—

Things were beginning to get interesting, to say the least. Where she once voiced her grievances over the barren stillness of these lands, her tune changed the moment she stumbled upon the hulking man of promises. He was a force of nature, a storm wrapped in flesh, and she—well, she could have cemented her paws into his earth, let herself become entangled in the gravity of his world, orbiting him like a moon drawn to an unrelenting sun.

But that wasn’t how she worked.

She was wild, a free spirit that reveled in the thrill of the chase. She toyed with limits, danced on the edges of boundaries just to see how far they would bend before they snapped. Biting was easy, but poison—that was her true choice of violence. Few knew that about her. Fewer still lived to tell of it. Her secrets were sacred, harbored only with her sister, and the absence still left her bitter and confused.

A sigh, a flicker of distraction, but then—oh, how fate liked to play.

A scent lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating, rich with masculine musk and unshaken authority. It was a claiming scent, one that commanded the space it occupied, and oh, how it made her skin prickle beneath the smoothness of her fur. Her ears tilted forward, her body taut with curiosity. The forest was quiet—too quiet—but his presence throbbed in the air like a pulse.

It didn’t take her long to find him.

And what a sight he was.

Her amethyst gaze roamed him with no apologies, devouring every inch of the rugged figure before her. He was carved from the kind of brutality only time could sculpt—a frame of hardened muscle, a face littered with the history of battles past, scars tracing his flesh. How delicious.

A slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue over ivory teeth, a soft click as her lips curled into a smirk. “It’s true,” she purred, voice a silken whisper laced with something wicked,“a man made of scars is indeed a sight to see.” A single brow arched, her gaze simmering as she let the words linger between them, thick with unspoken intent. She offered nothing more. Not yet.

After all, the best games were the ones played slowly.

@Reagan
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“Well, now, ain't that just peachy? If that's what gets your little engine revvin', then sure, sugar tits.” The wind—the fickle bitch it was decided to give him a whiff of her. Damn. He could get used to that. If everything around here smelled like that, he'd be a happy camper. He could get used to a nose this sensitive. However, like a bad penny, there was something else in the mix, a familiar stench he couldn't quite place. Then it hit him. That other fella. The one he woke up to in this new… situation of his. “You smell like him. You his woman?” he inquired, tilting his head, like a curious puppy. Not that he gave a rat's ass, mind you. Not really his type, what with the hooded eyes and that try-hard flirty tone she was using. Reminded him of a damn snake, that one, all coiled up and ready to strike the second he slipped up.

See, Reagan liked his women with a little more… backbone. Someone sweet, yeah, but with that steel spine, you know? Loyal to him, to his bed, but not some pushover. Someone who could take his shit, but also knew when to toe the line, and knew when to shut the hell up and fall in line. But most importantly, he wanted someone he could trust to watch his six. Easy to say, harder than hell to find. Might never find anyone like that. But a guy could dream, couldn't he? He'd be a goddamn liar if he said otherwise.

And that was that. The conversation fizzled out faster than a walker in a fire. Reagan wasn't lookin' for trouble, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna be led around by the nose. She came to him, for whatever the hell the reason was. Now the ball was in her court. She either kept talkin' or skedaddle right on out of his presence.

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He was just as witty, and Harlow was no stranger to a good game of push and pull. He caught onto her presence faster than she arrived, already armed with a response the moment she stepped in. The corners of her lips curled into a smirk. “Sugar tits” she mused to herself. “No, that would be too simple of a reason,” but it was what he said after that made the smirk vanish. “I belong to no one,” she corrected, her tone sharp. He reminded her of the life she lived prior to this, where her father forced her sister to marry and would have done to the same to Harlow if she never ended up here. It caused a shift in her, a remembrance that, for so long, men had always tried to control her life. 

The man she’d met before had no qualms about invading her space, but if she smelled like him, it wasn’t by choice. It was defiance. A refusal to submit as he closed the distance between them. She inhaled, letting the crisp air fill her lungs as she studied the stranger before her. He was different—she could tell—but she couldn't quite place how. There was a ruggedness to him, something unrefined, yet direct. And in the silence between them, she weighed her next move.

“You say ‘him’ as if you know him?” Maybe that other man—the one whose name she hadn’t bothered to learn—had tried to recruit this stranger too. He fit the type. She could see the appeal. But she was curious. Had their paths crossed? And if they had, how had that meeting gone?
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