bloodstream

The last time he'd checked, tagging someone meant it was their turn to give chase. Instead, the strange (in more than one sense) she-wolf took off like a bat out of hell. Wicked stared after her, perplexed, then his hunter's instincts took hold and he launched after her. He was tall, with long legs and a stride to match. He might not necessarily catch up to her right away but he could at least match her pace.

While he was at it, he enjoyed the brisk breeze and let his tongue loll from his maw as he galloped like a mustang around the foot of the mountain. He would have to circle back and walk this stretch again to better familiarize himself with it but, for the moment, Wicked indulged his need for speed and kept his dark eyes on the prize.