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The Big Dog

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Chris Argent - you knew his scent from when you had visited a distant cousin in Beacon Hills.

“Don’t think for one second that I won’t kick your ass up and down these halls,” you say as you lean in close, letting your eyes flash red.

You smell his surprise and his hate and you just smirk down at him.  Because here, in this wonderful little city, there is absolutely nothing he can do.




You had always known that Hunters were stupid, but really?  This was ridiculous.

“Let him go,” you say calmly, your hands still in your pockets.

You’re standing in front of the firm, it’s night and you and Mike had just finished one of your larger cases.  You had been kindly seeing him to his bicycle as you hailed your own cab when six hunters circled you, one of them grabbing Mike.

You were flattered by how many of them showed up, really you were, but their numbers would not help them.

“What’s going on?” Mike’s eyes darted around him, extremely conscious of the knife at his throat.

You could smell the fear rolling off Mike and the overconfidence off the hunters.

“Look at me, Mike,” you say as you look deep into your associate’s eyes, bringing your hands out of your pocket and holding them up placatingly as you took a small step forward.  ”I want you to know - I would never do anything to hurt you.  Okay?”

And before the Hunters could draw in their next breath your wolf ripped out of your skin and a roar tore out of your throat as your claws took off the head of the man holding Mike.  




You nuzzle deep into Mike’s neck, inhale his exhilaration and let it hum through you.

You tell him how you’ll never hurt him, how you’ll never let anyone else even try to hurt him, how you’ll always be there and he’ll never be wanting for anything.

He just laughs and arches his back - eyes flashing a wonderful electric blue.