(--)
His body seemed to pulse in time with his pounding heart, and even the rain seemed to fall in time with it. The thunder goaded him, roaring commands down from the heavens as to what Guy should do with their wandering and lost child. He had been innoculated with his parents' strong mythology and a hefty dose of his grandfather's superstition. His brutality was bred of these things. With tales of vengeful gods whispered before sleep each night, what else was Guy to know? Perhaps that was why Cassandra's mythos appealed to him so, and why he was so personally betrayed by her infidelity. He might have even claimed such, given a slightly sharper mind, but in truth, Guy's motive and instinct were far more simple. He had desired her and been denied, even when others might have her freely.
There was a squirming, and even as the tawny-shaded wolf moved his freed hand toward her side and hip, he held his grip on her hair with the other. The hunter did not release prey felled and captured so easily. Yet still, a sudden jerk came from the pale canine and there was fire in both of his legs -- more acute in the one, and perhaps luckily, as the larger blade had only skimmed a shallow cut. The smaller one, however, had managed to stab directly into the meat of his thigh. Howling his wordless fury and pain, the wolf half-leapt, half-yanked himself back, sliding so he might kneel between or around her legs. He sought to pull her hair and head, and thus the rest of her body, upward onto all fours with himself. His free hand sought for her forearm or wrist, or even the knife itself, swatting and slashing where he could not sink a proper grip.
His shouting had ceased with the fire of pain, but the words were still tumbling endlessly from his mouth, murmured curses and worshipful phrases both. Guy might never have recalled half of the things he spoke in conscious memory, but they bubbled up from the surface anyway, competing with the rain for precedence.
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