Hideaway Strath I love that she’s got daddy issues

Dragomir wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get his teeth into the Grandmaster's throat; moments were blurring together into red-streaked eons in his mind. It wasn't important. What was important was that he had the master of the Saints at his mercy for a split second, and he hesitated.

Hydra and Arcturus both flashed before his eyes, their disappointed expressions burning into his veins. A brown-and-black furred boy from Firehawks with his teeth in Dragomir's throat bubbled up in his memories; he remembered how the boy had let him live. With his life on the line, Dragomir should not have been worried about the moral implications of killing Kynareth — this man had taken him captive and meant to spill his life's blood on the ground!

But he hesitated, grappling with the notion of actually killing someone, and it was the split second Kynareth needed to flip the script. Dragomir ground his teeth together, squeezing the man's throat, but it was too late to do any lasting damage; he was flipped onto his back, forced to let go by the weight of the man on him, and then teeth found their mark in his throat.

It was like letting the air out of a balloon. A gaping hole opened in his throat, almost harmless for just a moment, and then blood rapidly began pooling into his airways. Dragomir gasped and coughed, spewing flecks of blood into the Grandmaster's face. It was remarkably painless, but not without its own brand of suffering. His eyes bugged as he tried to pull in a breath and drowned in his own blood.

Weak kicks of his hind legs were all he could manage before blackness rose up and embraced him. It happened very quickly, ending with a few resistant convulsions of his body before he laid still.