Lost Creek Hollow pepsi can

She was rejecting him — again! She insisted that he had been the one to walk away but here is, and here she is pushing him back once more. She growled, warned him, but he did not pull back. His lips twitched upward past his fangs, and stayed that way as he bristled so near to her, and he felt it: a foreign, dangerous urge. He felt his teeth want to sink into her scruff, felt his tense body want to thrust her down and hold her.

He felt the need to control. To take.

He held his breath as he shook with the coiled urge, the thrumming rage, and at the last moment he jerked forward, but just a fraction of a step, before he turned abruptly, his tail slapping her nose as he stormed off. But he stopped, just a couple paces away. He did not turn to look at her, and his tail lashed with his severe agitation. His voice was low, but steady and dreadfully calm compared to a moment ago. And his words were spoken so slowly.

"I chose you," he said. "I could have went with him, to his pack." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes brimmed with hurt, but still they burned with intense anger. "But I chose you."

If she had a reply, he did not hear it. He left in a hurry, and his ears were closed to her.