Overture Downs in the arms of the strangler

The last thing he expects is the stranger's face between his jaws — but that's what happens, somehow. It all goes a bit too fast for him to keep track of exactly how. One moment he feels jarred by the pain of his teeth against her skull and her claws against his chest, grip tightening nonetheless, and the next he feels something soft and warm against his tongue. He flinches, jaws stretching wide as he disentangles himself from his awkward grip on her, and he feels flesh catching in his teeth as he pulls away and down, stretching and then giving with the slightest snap.
He takes a step back, nausea intensifying as his jaws clamp shut over something oddly round and warm and too soft. It slides down his throat before he can even register the salty taste. He chokes on it as he turns away, ignoring the woman he'd just maimed. He can't look — not out of guilt, but disgust. If he looks, it will only confirm the sinking feeling in his stomach that tells him he knows exactly what he'd just swallowed, and he doesn't think he can tolerate that just now. Instead, he runs, and he doesn't stop until his body's protests force him to.