Chase smiled as he felt a warm wetness building along his shin. At first, it was only a faint sensation beneath the adrenaline and heat of motion, something almost easy to ignore in the rush of the exchange. Then he looked down and saw the blood threading down his leg in thin, steady lines. Ten puncture wounds. Clean. Deliberate. Close enough together to tell their own story.
The sight did not erase his smile.
It sharpened it.
There was surprise in his expression, yes, but it was the kind a predator wore when prey bit back hard enough to finally become worth hunting. His green eyes lingered on the wounds for only a second before lifting again, rising over the black claws dripping dark red, over the crouched frame balanced low and wrong, over the glowing crimson eyes staring back at him with a hunger that had not been there at the start of the match.
