It's what you know

It was not entirely on purpose, but it became so as soon as he tasted her. The instant his fangs sank into her shoulder, a wild tremor ran through him, and his body jerked, muscles spasming as if struck by lightning. Redrum’s world shrank to the taste of her blood, hot and metallic, searing against his tongue. It electrified every nerve, every sinew, contorting his form into a coiled frenzy. A brutal strike delivered by a brute barely able to contain the twitching anticipation roiling beneath his fur. Their bodies tangled, caught in a vicious embrace of teeth and claws, and the pain only sharpened the red wolf’s hunger, his need for more. The answer eluded him.

When she struck back, fangs piercing deep into his neck, a strangled snarl tore from his throat—a broken, feral sound. The sharp pain cut through the fog of his violent haze, slicing straight into the madness simmering beneath. His ears pinned flat, twitching violently with every shudder of his muscles. His growl came out uneven, stuttering as his jaws clenched harder, muscles bunching and spasming along his spine as he fought for control. Her blood soaked his maw, seeping past his lips, marking him and her in crimson. A mark he’d burn into her mind, one she’d remember. His entire body quivered, shuddering with barely restrained wrath, the need to consume her presence like a meal clawing at him from the inside out.

Feel it. His mind howled in disjointed bursts, erratic and ragged. Her pulse hammered beneath his teeth, beating erratically against his tongue, each throb matching the wild rhythm of his own heart as it threatened to beat out of his chest. Maybe it was his pulse that rang so violently in his ears, a pounding drumbeat that left him half-mad with predatory desire and fury.

Her weight shifted, coiling tighter around him, and his breath hitched—a sharp, ragged inhale that shuddered through him, making his limbs jerk and twitch beneath her. His claws gouged into the dirt, scrabbling for purchase, muscles knotting beneath her grip as he bore down. The pain was exquisite—intensely beautiful. He was at a loss to understand why though. But the young brute always navigated life as such. It drove through the chaos in his mind like a blade, reminding him that she wasn’t breaking. She was fighting, and he wanted her to fight. His mouth twisted in a broken grin, lips pulling back from blood-stained fangs. The red wolf’s body quaked, every muscle trembling with coiled energy, every nerve set ablaze. He craved this struggle, the brutal clash of strength against strength, will against will. It was a hunt, a savage dance, and Redrum was ravenous for it.

Her teeth dug deeper, and he twitched violently yet again, always again, every muscle spasming in raw, instinctual response. His snarl turned guttural, a mangled growl that came out halting and uneven, his breath a ragged rasp through clenched teeth. The pressure on his neck sent shivers racing down his spine, feeding into the roiling storm beneath his fur. Agony bled into something primal, intoxicating. His limbs spasmed, jerking in wild, uncontrolled fits as he fought to wrench free, his entire form a live wire of twitching rage. Had he ever had such a fight before? A hunt? No. Never.

His lungs burned, his ribs groaned, but the sensation of being trapped—of this predator pressing so close—only deepened his hunger. A savage glee twisted through him, and his lips peeled back in a broken, twitching grin. He’d seen it before—the two bucks locked in an eternal embrace, antlers tangled, neither yielding until death took them both.

“Bleed,” he growled, his voice a jagged, broken rasp. “Bleed—for—Redrum.” Each word shuddered out of him in uneven bursts, punctuated by the shivers that wracked his frame, every breath hitching and trembling.

Because this—this—was where he thrived. Where pain and rage and dark satisfaction blurred into one, where there were no boundaries, no restraints. Only blood and violence and the sheer, brutal joy of being alive. Yes. He was alive.

He didn’t have the answers. Didn’t have the capacity to think it through, not now. Not when every nerve screamed with fire and fury, when his very soul trembled with the thrill of it. He just wanted—wanted her to fight, to clash, to push him until something broke. Whether it was her or him, he didn’t care.

"Murder"