Valley of Shadows

The mortals were everywhere he turned, though, screaming, running before him until he had to thrust them out of his way or step on them to pass, throwing things at him. Rage filled him at those who dared that because he knew his precious was as mortal as they, as vulnerable as they. If he had felt that he could spare the time, he would have chased after them and ripped them apart for risking injury to his woman.
He studied them broodingly for many moments, tempted to turn aside from the need burning him, but in the end he merely fixed them with a look that promised retribution in time and moved on, searching.
He was near mad with the lust boiling in his veins by the time he saw the walls of the city. Out, he realized. He had to go further, beyond the reach of the crazed mortals dashing around him.
Then he could be alone with his precious.
Then he would not need to concern himself that someone would try to snatch her from him or someone would injure her in their attacks upon him. He could indulge his need to taste her, touch her. He could bare her body to his gaze and admire his prize to his heart’s content.
Shifting her on his shoulder, he ran full tilt at the gates that blocked his path, slamming against the barrier with his other shoulder and then dropping back to thrust the splinters out of his way to make certain none marred his treasure as he passed. She was fragile, his flower, he reminded himself. She was mortal.