The blood you bleed Is just the blood you owe

She had no power that could stop him. The strength in her frail form was pitiful at best, and shameful at worst. He felt his claws dig into her flesh, and the tears spring free in her eyes. He was moments from victory, his slave was broken and trembling beneath him, and something roiled inside of him. Perhaps the alcohol, soaking through his body. But as he looked at her small body. Trembling from fear and pain, he remembered another time, another place. A time when he had been the weaker wolf, small and frail. Untrained, and ungrown. For the first time something else surged inside of him. Aided by the alcohol, and perhaps the pain of his own wounds. Shame. 


He loosened his grip on her, hating the surge of weakness inside of him. He almost continued on in spite of himself, but he suddenly could not. Any lust had fled him. He staggered off her, his drunkenness showing now that the adrenaline had faded from his system. 


“Shhhh” he told her, shuffling towards her front. He grabbed a coat stacked by the door and ripped it into a strip, pulling her arm into place as he bound it. His movements were clumsy, and his head was pounding. Why did he feel regret? Curse himself, curse any lingering weakness the world hadn't burned from his body yet.