"What's the matter?" Margaret lowered her voice, lifting her arm to run her fingers through Damon's grey, coarse short hair. The hair of the half-breed orc was rough and prickly, emitting a noticeable warmth.
Damon didn't respond, instead nuzzling against her neck with a suppressed growl rumbling in his throat. He felt anger, but it was a futile anger, unable to be expressed, only settling into a powerless sense of resentment and envy, seeking solace in his master.
Margaret's lower back was uncomfortably warm from his rough fur. She shifted slightly forward, a slight sigh mingling with her amused tone.
"Don't get too frisky out here."
She knew perfectly well why Damon was behaving this way. But she wasn't obligated to transform herself into some chaste woman to satisfy Damon's possessiveness. He was just a subordinate, her property to some extent, admittedly quite endearing, but that affection hadn't elevated to the point of indispensability.
