Boartusk Heights And if you were my little girl

Dangerous. That’s exactly what Kynareth is. His brute strength rips open muscle and tendons, crunching bones beneath the weapons that are his jaws and deathly sharp teeth. He feels his blood pump through his veins despite such a meager kill — at least to him it’s meager. Perhaps for a smaller wolf such as Teya, this is quite the feat, but he knows not the prey she usually targets. 

Still, this does not satisfy the Saint. The blood he desires is that of the wolf kind — of his own brethren. It’s the only kind that quiets down the urge to kill within his ever churning mind and body. 

Yet, despite this, he’s impressed when Teya moves forth to step into her role. Her teeth latch onto the boars throat and it squeaks breathlessly as it’s life force is drained. It’s becoming horribly weak. Only Kyn hears Teya gasp and his eyes shoot over to her. His brows furrow but he can just hardly see the cut on her cheek through the blood that already stains her pretty, sun kissed fur. 

He lunges out, dropping the leg in favor of putting all his bodily weight onto their prey and making it crash to the ground. Heavy paws squish into its belly as his head dips and rips into the tender flesh there. Teeth puncture, muscles flex as he shakes his body violently, and it’s innards spill into the grass. 

The life is finally his. 

He steps back with an experimental gaze to his partner. Black tongue flopping out as he pants from the exertion, a small smile comes to his maw at a job well done — despite the mess.