Asuma's breath hissed between his teeth. "Don't move, love," he said, hand groping to find her arm. "Hurts."

It was amazing how much understatement you could get into one word. His fingers wrapped around her forearm, capturing lean muscle and fragile-feeling bone, trapping her hand against his throat. Callouses scraped against stubble, but nothing sharper touched his skin.

He couldn't see much of her face, but her body still seemed to be carved into a shape that meshed wolf with human. Angular, sleeker, feral.

Seriously bruised.

He worked a little saliva into his mouth. "You okay? They didn't touch you, right?" He'd kill them if they had. Hell, he'd kill them anyway. But for that he'd do it slow.

Slender fingers twitched against his jugular. A thought worked its way through the bloody mist filling his head.

"Darlin', I'm not feeling claws."