Hushed Willows Is your blood authentic?

Sivaak’s nose twitched, her crimson eyes narrowing as she pulled back from the fight, blood dripping from her bared teeth. The tang of the buck’s smeared concoction lingered in the air, sharp and unnatural, coiling in her nostrils like a warning. The deer was no longer the prize—it reeked of something twisted, something wrong.

But the girl. The little thing, slick with her own blood and full of defiance, that was another story.

Sivaak’s tail lashed violently behind her as she took a step forward, her breath curling in the cold air. The feral laughter grated on her nerves, the clicking a noise that sent her hackles bristling higher. The patchwork wolf lingered just out of reach, her seaglass eyes gleaming with provocation.

She was taunting her.

Sivaak didn’t need to be goaded—her blood was already boiling, her hunger for the hunt now focused solely on this insolent creature.

Her muscles bunched, her frame coiled like a spring. She charged, powerful strides pounding against the frost-laden ground as she barreled straight for the girl, jaws snapping with brutal intent.