Donovan hadn't even finished speaking before Dean apparently decided<em>challenge accepted </em>and was airborne. Aza reared up, still straddling Methuseld, her fangs showing and arms open as if to receive the hit... then she neatly ducked and flattened again the general, letting the man sail over top of both women and tumble freely onto the wide expanse of mattress. Face against the blonde's neck, she gave the other woman one last warm lick before spinning away and throwing herself after Dean, intent on catching him before he rolled to the floor.<br/><br/>Back in the safehouse's tub, Dean had suggested a wrestling match; maybe this wasn't how he'd envisioned it, but he'd gotten one. With a howl that sounded more like a charge of a hundred vengeful wolves than a single annoyed fox, her teeth went straight for Dean's throat. Simultaneously, a knee went right for his balls. Did anyone expect a Shadow to fight cleanly?<br/><br/>The darkness seemed to follow and coalesce about the new pair, enveloping them like trailing smoke and perhaps concealing from the observers what exactly was happening within the catfight. Aza wasn't totally sure herself, mostly trusting her shadowy rage to wreak all the  havoc necessary, all the little slave-bells chiming sweetly as she attempted to choke the unlife out of Dean using the chain that still leashed her to the bedpost. "YOU are the bitch," she rejoined snappily, smooth legs locked about his narrow hips, claws tangled in the hair she had so nicely braided for him. Was Dean's perfect body even capable of bleeding? Her pointy canine teeth were determined to discover. "Ssssubmit," she hissed authoritatively, around a mouthful of his ear.