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<333
WC: 455
Bris' heart began beating a bit faster as her feet carried her toward home. She chided herself inwardly for her paranoia and skittishness, telling herself she was foolishly jumping at shadows. Yet despite this chiding voice, her feet refused to slow, and her heart refused to calm. It didn't matter anyway, as soon as she was back in Dahlia, she'd have plenty of time to feel stupid for being spooked over nothing at all.
Her hackles bristled slightly as she trotted along, her eyes still darting from side to side, defying her sorry attempt at reassurance as they frantically tried to find what her instincts told her was there. Her ears twitched as noises crackled from the brush around her, close enough to be heard, yet far enough for the source to remain hidden. Her heart quickened even more as the sounds alternated from side to side, and sometimes even before or behind her. Bris' mouth went dry, a lump of fear forming in her throat, and she tried to force it down. Panicking solved nothing, and she was a big girl, she could deal with almost anything that noise could be.
Anything except one thing in particular.
Terror gripped her heart as the voice whispered from among the trees. It was the same voice that so frequently now invaded her sleep: a whiskey tenor dripping with malice. Crimson eyes flashed through Bris' mind at the sound of that taunting nickname he'd granted her, and despite her brain screaming at her to run, the white wolf's feet froze to the ground. Velvet ears laid back against her skull as she lowered her body stance, her tail sweeping low. A shudder snaked its way down her spine as her hackles bristled fully, her mismatched eyes wide with fear as they tried desperately to find him. Hybrid was there, somewhere in the shadows around her, Bris was sure of it. That voice was unmistakable, and though a part of her tried to tell her it was all in her head, her instincts told her it was real.
Sounds continued to echo from the woods around her, first to her left, then her right. As they circled around, Bris tried to keep herself facing whichever direction they would come from. Her lips curled as a fear-fueled growl began rumbling softly in her chest, and then it struck her. The wind shifted, carrying the unmistakable scent of Hybrid Holocaust to Bris' nose, and it was the extra little push needed to take her over the edge. With his voice echoing still in her ears, his scent snaking its way through her nose, the injured woman suddenly bolted as fast as she could in the direction of Dahlia de Mai.
Table by Kiri/Jenny!