The Heartwood and i pray to god you dont come back here anymore

a gout of scarlet rimmed her jaws, darkening the alabaster along her chest like the formidable cerise bloom of a savage flower. caiaphas tasted it, the boorish slug of heat and iron — how it overwhelmed her senses while pain sang keenly in the background.

she was aware of agony and blood and doom along her backside — and then suddenly, was flung free by a force beyond her own or vengeance’s. merrick’s form catapulted her free, wrenching skin and muscle in a bolt of immutable shock — she wheeled, drunken on pain and blood, eyes affixing on vengeance in murderlust when he became not one but two visions. swimming — not one, two — no, a different wolf, another, a fourth —

caiaphas’ ear turned as she looked behind her. merrick gone, the wolf advancing. the trembling in her legs rocking her into motion, caiaphas bolted from the fresh set of new jaws before her. every breath burned hellfire down her lungs and stomach, every limping step accompanied by the screaming of her haunch and spine — she followed merrick’s path down through the underbrush, knowing to stay would be to sign the warrant of her death ...

and caiaphas was far smarter than that.