Blood I was about to spill.
For only the second time in my life, my fangs descended in human form. My fingers were tipped with claws, and as she turned to face me, I slashed.
She caught the blow on her forearm, but my claws split her flesh like a hot knife through butter, and I caught a glimpse of white bone before she dropped it with a hiss. I didn’t stop, barreling into her like a locomotive.
She kept her feet, dancing back toward the boundary line before twisting out of my reach. I followed, pursuing her like she was fresh meat and I was a wolf starved. I was starved. Starved for justice. For revenge. For my mate.
She stopped and spun, sweeping out a kick, but I leapt into the air, over her leg, and made full contact with her torso as I tackled her to the ground.
Clawed hands scrab
