WC: 307
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Hybrid knew Vi— no, no, no, the traitor — was dicking around just to piss him off. And even though Hybrid knew this, it still got to him. He hated the traitor (there, the traitor, and nothing else), and when the traitor provoked him, it only made his blood boil faster. Hybrid knew what the other canine was trying to do. He knew exactly why he was doing it, and he could not help but get reeled in. Hybrid snarled in reply to the creature's words, refusing to acknowledge the traitor as a lover. He had been, once, but Hybrid didn't need him anymore. It was over. The traitor had to die.
The traitor yawned. The traitor stretched; Hybrid seethed. The traitor raised his brow, and Hybrid wrinkled his in reply, frowning. And again, the coywolf taunted him. Hybrid hated this; he hated being toyed with and he hated knowing this, but being unable to do anything about it. He and the traitor had always been competing for dominance, and neither of them had ever achieved it. They had always been stuck in a stalemate. Now, the only way to resolve the age-old draw was through death. Death, death, kill him, kill him, Hybrid chanted quietly in his head, trying to calm himself. The thought of drawing the traitor's blood soothed him.
"Get the fuck down!" Hybrid bellowed, not caring how loud he was, or who might hear him. Let them hear. Let them know. "Get the fuck down so I can kill you," he repeated. He didn’t want to say it again, but he knew he might have to. He might have to stand here for hours yelling at the traitor. He didn’t want to, but he knew neither of them would move until they decided to or were forced to. Fuck their pride. Hybrid wanted blood.