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She wouldn’t bark. She wasn’t a dog. Dogs barked, whined, and bit.
She did mewl. She mewled and begged and cried if I hit her ass hard enough. She screamed in a nice, feminine voice when I carved my name into her shoulder. She had such a beautiful voice. It was like she was a slasher victim. Which made me her slasher.
Our first real meeting. On equal terms, in real life, where I wasn’t lying to myself or others and she wasn’t afraid, when we wrestled on the ground and twisted and turned and she pinned me to the ground. When she had me by the wrists and she was in my lap.
It clicked. I understood it at that moment.
I never understood the term prey drive. Especially not in real people. I always figured it was roleplay. It wasn’t something a human could genuinely feel, right?
A person. A real, human person. They could never have a desire to hunt someone, to capture someone, to feel that all consuming power over a breathing being’s soul.
I understood why people in pop culture depicted the beings that held the domain of death in their hands as monsters. It’s because a person, if given true domain over honest to God evil, would never treat that power with respect.