Everything was going so well, so fucking well and to have his prize torn away was not greeted well. Turning upon her, he attacks, a growl given when her slender snout dodges his fangs. Pity, he was sure two pink scars on both sides would have looked glorious on her muzzle. Yet, he has little time to reflect for his fangs did find purchase when she turned her head, the points eagerly digging into the flesh and muscle of the space between her neck and shoulder. He bites in, attempting to get more of her heated meat into his waiting jaws yet her fur tickles the back of his throat, causing him to cough some. The coughing forces him to release her some, his hold loosening up as he readjusts, his fangs sure to cause some tearing in addition to the punctures.

She cries out, the sound heavenly to his ears and suddenly his rage begins to dissipates, a feeling of exhilaration taking its place. He did not seek to hurt her but now…now he sought to test wits, to put claw to claw. This was what he needed so desperately…well this and the head of Meryl. Yet her call of anger is not alone as his howl of displeasure rises to meet her own song. The pain that radiates from his leg enough to cause him to fully release her so that he can reattach himself upon her ruff, nuzzling her fur to the side before biting down in order to get closer to the skin without earning a mouthful of fur. His bite lands on her ruff right behind her ear, his head jerking just as she jerks at his leg. Fuck the leg, fuck life as he growls, the pain white hot as it radiates up the appendage and into his very heart. Good, physical pain to dull the emotional torment.

Her shoulder moves up and into his chest, yet he stays strong, opening his mouth so that he can attempt to attack further up, closer to her spinal column. If his teeth lands he plans to deliver one savage bite before releasing, hopefully creating a pinched nerve. She then upends, throwing herself sideways and without his bite anchoring him, he is thrown over her back. Since he is no longer attached to her he lands a tad further out from her, yet he scrambles upon his paws. It is a feat that meets savage snarls as he places his injured leg down. She has torn through the skin and muscle, creating several nasty wounds that ooze blood. Instinct demands that he drag his tongue across the wounds, to cleanse them, yet he does nothing yet favor the leg for now. He has feeling, that is all that matters in this moment. Not the fact that his flesh is torn, that you can see the white of his bone, nor the fact that a small chunk of his muscle clings to the fur of her muzzle right by her mouth. It does not matter that a piece of his skin dangles from the corner of her lips, nor that he has the morbid urge to lick it from her just to deny her the taste of his flesh. No, it does not matter.

They are both up, facing each other, sides heaving for breath as they stare each other down. Her words slice through the air but he does not give them credit by responding. Instead he hop lunges forward, determined to end this with both of them unable to move. His goal this time is for her leg, he wants to rip the thin layer of flesh off so that they could have matching wounds. He wants to see if her insides looks the same as his. If she should back up he will push off his back legs in order to give him the momentum he will need to rear up. Once his front paws are off the ground thanks to the rearing he hopes to use the momentum to bite into the sensitive flesh of her nose, or at the very least give him the reward of marking her slender snout. If she should lift the leg he is so obviously aimed for then he will angle his head up and make for the space between the leg and chest…or if he can not reach that then the chest itself. Should she turn sideways then he is perfectly content with ravaging the flesh above her ribs.

During this his leg bleeds freely, painting the land and her if he manages to engage her again. He will be in serious need of a healer if he intends to ward off infection yet the thought of a healer only fuels his determination, giving him a second wind. If he was to return to the pack bloodied then damnit he would not be the sole one. Maybe after, when they lay exhausted he will learn her name. They may chat and discuss this night but now, no now is a time for bloodshed.