I turned to reach his left ear, grazing his jaw with the tip of my nose.
"Be careful what you wish for, Mate." I kissed him under his earlobe, my lips hot on his already scorching skin. He growled, low and deep, the sound reverberating through his...
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Attending breakfast with three hundred of hungry and chatty werewolves had never really been on my bucket list, reason why I decided to skip it. Or, maybe, I wanted to avoid only one of them.
That's how I found myself in the woods, blood coating my silvery fur and dripping from my muzzle. Let's say I had an "alternative" breakfast.
My beast tore through the still hot flesh of the stag, her razor fangs slicing cordons and muscles, enjoining the taste of her prey on her tongue. She was leaving her favorite part for last, the liver. Just when she was about to lose herself in the taste of that exquisite piece of meat, a snap resonated through the trees. She lifted her snout from the carcass, sniffing the air and eyeing her surroundings with sharp attention. Her golden globes monitored the trees, looking for any type of danger.
She was being watched.
She stood on her four legs, body tense, fur raised, a low intimidating growl erupting from her, resonating from her chest to the morning silence of the woods. She sniffed the air again: pines, musk, pine cones... and then, the unmistakable scent of a fox. A male.
A red blur suddenly darted between the greenery, appearing and disappearing through the foliage and the trunks of the trees. My beast let out a far more intimidating growl, asserting her dominance. She was frozen on the spot, protecting her prey. For a few seconds reigned the silence, then the fox bolted from his refuge, showing himself.
Amber eyes were locked on our prey, glinting in hunger. My wolf lowered her ears and snapped her jaw in the intruder's direction in warning. The fox shifted his gaze from the dead stag to us. He lifted his upper lip, showing us his teeth, and hissed. My beast was not pleased with that act. Not pleased at all. She mirrored the fox's actions, pacing in front of our prey in order to mark the boundaries of our possession.
The animal launched at us, feral, his instincts shadowed by his hunger. My beast was about to teach him one of the most important rules of survival: never go for the prey of a predator more powerful than you.
The fox went to bite our front leg, but my wolf, snarling at the affront, swiftly dodged his attack and sunk her teeth in the tender flesh of his shoulder, biting hard enough to feel her teeth scraping against bone. A loud whine came from the injured animal, making my beast bite down harder.
She was asserting her dominance.
When she felt her opponent become flightless, she released the hold on his shoulder, moving backwards. The fox slumped on the ground, whining loudly, trying to reach his wound in order to lick it. A growl from my beast was enough for him to stood up on his not injured legs and limping away from us, towards the deep green of the woods.
When my beast couldn't feel his presence anymore, she turned towards our prey huffing in annoyance. She hated being interrupted while feeding and now, without any more interruptions, she could resume her previously actions, launching herself at the liver.
