Protector

Well. A pretty little birdie recently decided to draw Gorm and Vixen, and Muirgen (who has yet to appear... be patient). Of course, she started by doing a Chibi. And then did one of them in their Pirate Days that was also shockingly cute. Shortly after that, my friend the Colourful Avian Of The Iberian Persuasion (The Peacock, he who does 'Writing Escritura') wrote a tale depicting the Bear of De Bruis as cute... This led to bellows and roars and cursing and crying, and to make it up to me, Lady Redjay drew this...
http://my.deviantart.com/messages/#/d3gg60i
This made me happy, and in response, I wrote this. And the moral of the story is, DO NOT PISS OF THE WOLFSBLOOD! Copyright and Intellectual property of Jared G. Juckiewicz. And the Lady Redjay if she so desires. Warnings of blood, death, graphic violence, and other charming things we tend to associate with Gorm called Grim and Grendel. Oh, chronologically, this happens at some point early on in the summer Gorm and Vixen spend outside Wapiti Bends.

When I looked up, there was an animal in my eyes, not a man. I stepped forward, hand raised to my face. Rather than wipe away the blood on my palms, I tasted it, sweet and tangy, and then wiped my hand under my eyes, fixing the screaming man at my feet with a deathly glare.

"Do not harm what is mine to protect." I snarled at him as he lay there, twisting and writhing in pain. I had no compassion for him, not after what he had done. What little compassion left within me by the rising beast was for poor Lydia, She who had become almost a daughter to me. I was growling low in my throat, as I contemplated the one squirming away, terror in his eyes. The acrid smell of urine filled the air, my prey soiling itself in terror. "You threatened my pikkutyttö. You terrified her. You hurt her. She felt then as you felt now." With each phrase my voice deepened, growing harsher and harsher. My fangs grew, cutting through my bottom lip, and carving sheaths in my chin. "And That! Is! UNFORGIVABLE!" I roared at him, lifting him off the ground by his neck, ramming his back against the wall. He screamed and I put my face close to his, stared straight into his eyes, and let the beast flash into my gaze. That shut him up. Into the silence, I whispered at him, "Give me. One. Good. Reason. Not to tear out your throat and feast on your flesh." I told him. "I-I-I-" He stammered, and I let go and hopped back. "NOT GOOD ENOUGH!" I snarled, and raised a hand before his face. As he watched, my fingers elongated, fur sprouting along the back of the hand, the palms toughening to almost leather. I twirled the hand slowly, as the nails lengthened into claws. He stared in rapt fascination. He was still staring as they raked across his throat, stilling whatever screams he had yet to make, forever.
I did something then, something I rarely do. I broke my word. I did not feed from his corpse. I settled for taking tokens. His heart, as a gift to my beloved. And lower things, for the one he had thought to harm. Bar that, I left him, left him to bleed dry and gasp out the last of his breath. The kill, at least, had been clean, even if the hunt had not been.