Redhawk Caldera i could write it better than you ever felt it.

Ever the slave to impulse, Whip found himself sequestered to the passenger seat of his own body. Heady as her scent was, his higher functions all but ceased to be. All the remained was the skeletal framework of instinct compelling him to act.

He approached with a confident stride, placing himself between the female wolf and her suitor. He laid eyes on his competitor first, thinking first to separate him before turning his attentions on their desired prize. He was a ragged thing. Small, but seemingly agile, Whip surmised that he was little more than an adolescent. Shame, really -- to get tied up in this.

Lips peeled back revealing a nasty snarl. Saliva dripped from pearly, jagged teeth. This was the game that nature demanded the strong play. Whip was no stranger to it himself. He understood what it meant to fight, to maim, to kill if necessary.

He spoke naught, but he made his intent clear.