Bramblepoint You're next, sir, becomes a cruel taunt to you

While he had been panting softly from the heat, his breathing changed when she persisted. Poison? No, he wouldn't have expected something like that. It would've been too unsatisfying for wolves that lived to hunt their marks until they couldn't run any longer. Poison was too fast. Too merciful. 

His breaths were short and shallow; the mark of anxiety. A creature trying to supply his body and brain with as much oxygen as possible, as quietly as possible so it could have one last burst of energy to use as an escape route if absolutely necessary...He knew, now, from experience. He just wasn't sure he'd have it in him to run again. 

He bared his teeth in a silent, ancious grimace in response to her question. All she got was a vacant side-eye from the male who flinched when she sat down. Was she trying to put more pressure on him? It felt like pressure. He felt like he was being trapped. His body remembered what it felt like to be trapped underground when the den had caved on on him, and it made him begin trembling.