4/4/2026, 11:27 PM
zharille’s lips peeled back further.
she did not wait.
with a sudden, brutal surge, her massive jaws snapped forward and sank deep into the hare’s haunches.
teeth sheared through fur, skin, and muscle with wet, crunching force. the taste of hot blood exploded across her tongue — rich, metallic, still pulsing with the last faint heat of life. she jerked her head violently to the side, trying to rip the kill free in one savage motion.
the stranger did not yield; instead she hunkered low, scrabbling backward, using zharille’s own weight as an anchor. for a heartbeat the hare stretched between them like a rope of flesh and bone.
then it tore.
the sound was wet and unmistakable — a sickening rip of sinew and hide splitting apart. the hare’s body gave way with a sharp crack of bone as its spine severed. hot blood sprayed in a sudden arc across the frost, splattering across zharille’s muzzle, chest, and the smaller wolf’s face in thick, steaming ropes. one half of the hare remained clamped in zharille’s jaws — haunches and hind legs dangling, guts beginning to spill in slippery loops. the other half stayed gripped in the stranger’s teeth, the torso and forelegs twitching once with residual nerve fire.
zharille’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as the copper flood filled her mouth. she crushed down harder, teeth grinding through bone and gristle, swallowing the first hot rush of blood and shredded meat without hesitation. the flavor was savage and perfect — warm life torn in half beneath the cold moon. it soothed the gnawing void in her stomach even as fresh hunger roared louder at the promise of more.
a deep, guttural snarl tore from her chest, muffled around the mangled half-carcass still locked in her jaws. blood dripped heavily from her chin and stained the thick fur of her neck and shoulders. her shoulders bunched tighter, claws gouging deep into the frozen earth as she planted herself and lunged again, trying to slam her broad chest into the smaller wolf and drive her backward.
the power-high that had carried her since castle rock flared hot beneath her skin, mixing with the fresh taste of blood and the raw satisfaction of violence. this soft highland night would not deny her—this taunting stranger would not deny her.
zharille shook her great head once, violently, flinging droplets of viscera into heather. she wanted the rest. she wanted all of it.
and she would take it.
she did not wait.
with a sudden, brutal surge, her massive jaws snapped forward and sank deep into the hare’s haunches.
teeth sheared through fur, skin, and muscle with wet, crunching force. the taste of hot blood exploded across her tongue — rich, metallic, still pulsing with the last faint heat of life. she jerked her head violently to the side, trying to rip the kill free in one savage motion.
the stranger did not yield; instead she hunkered low, scrabbling backward, using zharille’s own weight as an anchor. for a heartbeat the hare stretched between them like a rope of flesh and bone.
then it tore.
the sound was wet and unmistakable — a sickening rip of sinew and hide splitting apart. the hare’s body gave way with a sharp crack of bone as its spine severed. hot blood sprayed in a sudden arc across the frost, splattering across zharille’s muzzle, chest, and the smaller wolf’s face in thick, steaming ropes. one half of the hare remained clamped in zharille’s jaws — haunches and hind legs dangling, guts beginning to spill in slippery loops. the other half stayed gripped in the stranger’s teeth, the torso and forelegs twitching once with residual nerve fire.
zharille’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second as the copper flood filled her mouth. she crushed down harder, teeth grinding through bone and gristle, swallowing the first hot rush of blood and shredded meat without hesitation. the flavor was savage and perfect — warm life torn in half beneath the cold moon. it soothed the gnawing void in her stomach even as fresh hunger roared louder at the promise of more.
a deep, guttural snarl tore from her chest, muffled around the mangled half-carcass still locked in her jaws. blood dripped heavily from her chin and stained the thick fur of her neck and shoulders. her shoulders bunched tighter, claws gouging deep into the frozen earth as she planted herself and lunged again, trying to slam her broad chest into the smaller wolf and drive her backward.
the power-high that had carried her since castle rock flared hot beneath her skin, mixing with the fresh taste of blood and the raw satisfaction of violence. this soft highland night would not deny her—this taunting stranger would not deny her.
zharille shook her great head once, violently, flinging droplets of viscera into heather. she wanted the rest. she wanted all of it.
and she would take it.