[/html]She let the fury come again, clung to it desperately, allowed it to wash over her fear and terror and unending disgust. The scent of blood was heavy now, as thick as it could be in the rain, and she found in it reassurance and cold satisfaction, even knowing that some of it was hers. It didn't matter. Cassandra stood shakily, slipping twice in the blood-soaked mud, but catching herself, pale red eyes ever-fixed on the wretched wolf, now thrashing on the ground, penis still erect, standing up and out like a target. Her lips, still curled, twitched, and she was the one pouncing this time.
Feet first, she landed on his stomach, bristling wildly as she ignored the pain in her shoulder to grab hold the hilt of her knife again. With her other hand, she steadied herself against him, clawed fingers closed tightly around the base of his neck. And then she pulled with her knife hand, slowly and steadily slicing him open, gutting him from his chest to his navel and further still. Blood seeped from the growing chasm and she could feel organs shifting beneath the tip of her blade, ready to burst from their lifetime of confinement. The blade reached the base of his most offensive organ and she shifted sideways to give herself the space to continue. Never again.
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