Iskandor's eyes narrowed as the stranger reacted to his voice and the rustling, their growl cutting off into a fit of wet coughs. Blood trickled from their nose, giving him pause—his gaze flicked to the bulge in their belly; and the movement he witnessed roiling within gnawed at his thoughts. What the hell??
The coyotes’ snarls grew louder, bolder, growing more assured with the scent of weakness and blood. They wanted the meat they were sure to claim. His focus split between the danger and the struggling older pup at his side. He lowered his skull, nudging their shoulder firmly but not harshly. “Stay with me. Breathe. You’re no use to anyone dead.” Maybe it would help them focus.
Then, Iskandor stepped forward, his stance resolute. His hackles raised, piercing eyes locked onto the biggest of the pack, the one closest to him. Daring them to make the first move. His lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth, and a low, guttural snarl rumbled from deep in his chest.
“Come closer,” he growled, venom lacing his voice. “I dare you.” And boy did that coyote dare. It lunged, fangs snapping at Iskandor's face and the boy delivered a counterattack to seize the little cretin with his jaws in a bid to barrel forward and take the coyote to the ground beneath him all at once.
