A sweet and terrible scream broke from the scrawny rabbit’s throat. The black and white wolf opened his mouth as if to savor the sound on his tongue. It tasted like copper and sunk down his throat. Larkspur stopped running almost instantly. Still as death the scarred wolf waited, saw her not only kill but rend the beast as she struck. His pupils widened once more, seeking to swallow the image whole. Blood not that different from the color of her eyes had stained the pretty white fur he himself so envied.
Then the can tah whispered and Larkspur’s eyes sharpened at an uncanny speed. His ears turned before his head did, whipping around to the land behind them. Though they were upwind, he could hear the approaching stranger. The burly male bristled. He was not used to his own pack sneaking around him. The Khalif were different. The Khalif might have done so with blood on their mind. With the memory of this and the shadows of a war hanging over him the D’Angelo was tense. “Y’best come out,” he warned. If the stranger was a foe, he would deal with them as such.
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