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Silver light spilled across the mossy ground as the moon shredded the forest canopy. His muzzle lifted, scenting the air as his primal instincts stirred awake. The forest's sleepy haze — cooling earth and damp bark — meant nothing to him now. Not when that other scent wound through the trees: the gentle musk of skin threaded with sweet breath, the unmistakable essence that made his chest ache and his fangs ache and every part of him ache with wanting.
Childish prey wasn't enough anymore — those innocent hungers for shared smiles and careful friendship. His blood sang for more now, a need that burned deeper, darker, impossible to satisfy with such gentle fare. He bared his fangs in frustration. No turning back tonight — he couldn't run from this need anymore, this want that demanded everything, that whispered he would never be satisfied until he had it all.
All.
Hunt down. The command pulsed in his blood like a second heartbeat. The countdown began in his head, instincts ticking as he slid between shadows, tracking.
Five.
There — a flash of height through the trees, pale and elegant even in the half-light. His prey moved like water, each step placed with unconscious grace. Those long legs carried their owner deeper into the shadows, and his mouth went dry at the sight. Every movement was poetry, every step a dance that made his claws flex with need. Tonight, he wouldn't just watch from afar. Tonight, that grace would be his.
Four.
His quarry stopped, suddenly alert to some shift in the air. He held his breath as that small, perfect face turned, black hair catching moonlight. Those long fingers — the ones he'd dreamed of holding — splayed against a tree trunk. The shoulders tensed, wide and beautiful in the darkness, and he watched muscles shift beneath thin fabric as his prey tested the air. Even in stillness, that body held such power, such beauty, that his instincts screamed to close the distance between them.
Three.
The elegant head turned upon that long neck, and his heart thundered as doe-dark eyes searched the darkness. He saw the slight flare of nostrils, watched moonlight paint silver down that sharp jawline, and his hunger surged like a tide. Not just for flesh, but for everything — for every secret smile, every soft word, every moment he'd denied himself out of fear.
Two.
Those round lips parted slightly, releasing a soft breath that made his chest ache. He knew that mouth, had watched it curve into countless smiles, had memorised the way it shaped words, had imagined how it would feel against his own. His claws dug into the earth. The hunger that drove him forward wasn't for flesh or blood — it was for all the words he'd never said, all the touches he'd never dared. He wanted to devour every moment they could have had, every possibility he'd been too afraid to reach for.
One.
He burst from the shadows, unable to hold back any longer. At his movement, the tall figure turned, flowing like water over stones. Moonlight caught on sharp cheekbones, traced down the elegant line of that throat as it curved. Those graceful, long fingers remained light against the bark, ready to flee — but he didn't. Instead, he stood still as a deer in a forest clearing, all long limbs and quiet dignity, his small face tilted slightly as those dark eyes found his.
"Yuma?" The voice was soft, low, warm with recognition — not the startled cry of prey, but gentle as dawn breaking.
Hunger blazed through his blood as Jo looked at him, animal-black eyes full of understanding and an answering yearning that made his instincts howl anew.