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dollar signs on every sin.
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Anselm allowed himself a lightning quick glance over his shoulder and immediately wished he hadn't. The results of his little observation were less than promising--outnumbered to begin with, it seemed as if they had managed to ally a mountain of a man. Had he been afforded more time to consider the situation, he may have realised that the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit together, but for the moment the only thing registering was the uneasy rumble in his bowels and the surge of panicked adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was really in over his head this time and for the first time in a long time, he was forced to seriously consider the possibility that he might die. The fact that it was over something as benign as his green harvest was somehow infuriating: fuck that, he wasn't going down without a fight.
The wolves closer to him were on the move and he understood at once that being sandwiched in between his enemies was less than desirable. Without thinking he dropped to all fours and charged toward the nearest one. Even if they'd seen him first, he refused to forfeit the element of surprise. Because his choice of locomotion was so atypical, his opponent was rendered stupefied for only a moment as he considered whether or not he should be kicking, grabbing, or dropping down to the same level as well. That moment was all the hybrid needed; he sprang up and lunged, holding back nothing as animalistic fury bade him to tear and slash into the other man's gut before he dropped down and bolted around him, rising in time to shoulder the second aggressor out of the way.
Whirling quickly, he was pleased to see that the layout of the battleground had swung in his favour. He was no longer boxed in, and moreover, the wolves down at the other end of the alley seemed to be preoccupied; why weren't they advancing to help their comrades? Anselm strongly considered fleeing the scene right then and there, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to outrun them in this form. At the same time, the idea of shifting down was rather unappealing--he was by all rights out muscled already. Unfortunately, the larger male he'd pushed aside had seemingly found a small wooden beam, and the bronze hybrid understood at last that he really had no say in the matter: even if he left now, they'd probably destroy his garage or track him down later. One lip curled up in a silent snarl as the fellow approached: bring it.
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