He heard it before he smelled it; a rustle, a loud squawk of a fowl, then silence. He whipped his gaze away from the butchered remains of what was once a rabbit. Ears swiveled forward, cupping the air, seeking more sounds. When there were none, Ashkii stood, sauntering forward with heavy steps.

His nostrils flared again, huffing like a frenzied bull. Blood. Rabbit. Hen. Wolf. That was not his own musk but one from a foreign source. He lapped his tongue over his lips, rolling it over the ridged surface of his palate. His pace grew faster until he trotted. Then, he loped. And then, he galloped, flying over the lush grass with broad strides. He could see it; a supple form of blushed fawn, the flickering movement of another.

There was a tightness in his chest that he could not shed. Twisting and churning in the back of his conscience, tearing the borders of his frame of mind with needle-sharp talons. It was there, the desire. The one he felt once with Itzcoatl. The unfathomable want—no, the need—to sink his teeth into flesh. The body of varmints and prey would not suffice.

But, the pretty little flower who had begun to canter up the hill, towards the cabin—

Perfect. Perfect.

His paws slammed into the ground, drumming over the surface, sending bits of turf flying in their wake. Ashkii's lips parted, his tongue limp against his lips, brows intensely furrowed. Eyes blazed with fury, savagery, and the uncanny warmth of nostalgia.

It'd been so long.

Lean withers slammed into the stranger's side. Long limbs caged her between his burly frame and the ground beneath. Pupils were blown, gazing down at her with a fucked-up sense of want-need. Parted lips curled into a simper. A low rumble resonated in his chest with each snarl. Yes. He needed this. He has for so long—and now, there she stood. His savior. His victim. His vessel.

Claws dug into the ground on either side of her head. Y'smell me 'round here, blossom? he rasped between ragged breaths. Head lowering, dangerously close, until he could unfurl his tongue and lap it over her cheek if he so wished. Aint'cha know not to mess with what ain't yours? Face moved closer.

Self-restraint was waning with each breath, each heartbeat. His incisors grazed over her throat, cobbing the tender flesh. Someone oughtta teach you— he interrupted himself with a lunge of his head, jaws parted, slamming into the crook between her neck and her scapula.