The taste of victory. But he dove away, rending his flesh to free himself from my first bite. When he faced me again, there was undisguised hatred in his eyes, canine or no. We circled for a moment, a pause to see who would attack again now that we were on equal footing.
The fat splatter of his blood hitting the ground had my wolf preening, but he didn’t lose focus. I had a gut feeling that Russo would eventually snap, and I wanted to take advantage.
We circled three times before Shane lost patience and dove straight for my neck. The full-on frontal assault was dumb, and I deflected easily by ducking low and charging toward his inside shoulder, knocking him off-balance. He recovered quickly, but didn’t waste time with more pacing. His claws slashed at my back leg, ruffling my fur, but no
