Silvertip Mountain thestral

true to his word, merrick held back. the boy seemed hesitant at first, then all at once was hurtling with a scream between the murderous stares of the pair who had held him captive thus far. merrick's head spun with the dizy exhilaration of it all; his heart shouted that he simply must pursue, for his own sake, and that of the devil before him, that he must sate and sate and sate and 
comfort
himself with the child's blood, rushing crimson and hot and inexorable between his teeth yes yes yes
he had not astara's control, nor did he wish it; merrick leapt after their quarry as soon as the small paws were upon the cave's threshhold, a skulking pumpkin-eyed bedlamite who could no longer be contained even by the weakened constraints of his own mind. it was time, time timetimetime — merrick thought madly of the rabbits once more, how they had come to pieces beneath his fangs, the screaming, the awful screaming that still woke him in the night with a hot flush of desire darting down to his loins.
would a wolf flay like a smaller beast? the question beat round his ears uncomfortably as his teeth flashed in the gloom and he sought to grab the boy's hindquarters in his jaws, eyes mocking
a challenge
strike me if you dare
for what had the child to lose but his mortal soul, and even that already promised to the demons at his back?