Hideaway Strath I love that she’s got daddy issues

Baring his teeth was not enough to ward off an attack.

Dragomir was a trained warrior. He had trained under Hydra for offense and Arcturus for defense, and knew enough to keep himself alive in ordinary circumstances. These were not ordinary. Kynareth had at least 70 pounds on him and was built like a boulder. Dragomir knew bigger wasn't always better, but when he was trapped like this — none of the wolves gathering would let him escape — it wouldn't take very many blows to bring him to his knees.

He fought for all he was worth. His teeth met Kynareth's with a loud clack that knocked one of his canines completely free and filled his mouth with blood. Whatever wounds he managed to inflict on the master of the Saints paled compared to the ones he sustained. An ear ripped off, first, then the rake of teeth across one eye. Tears all over his muzzle and cheeks. At one point, Kynareth sliced clean through the side of his lip. His nose, shredded. His other eye, forced closed by the pour of blood from a wound over his brow.

Breathing raggedly, Dragomir attempted to back away from Kynareth, attempted to drag his muzzle down over his throat. He was losing too much blood to continue fighting offensively; now it was time to cling to life and hope to god he found an opening for a mortal strike.