That whimper he liked, and Ethan pressed down on the bones of Rowan’s wrist again, wanting to hear those sounds of pain. Other people liked music, but Ethan, he enjoyed screams and moans and whimpers. The sounds of pain, the sounds of fear, that was the music to the wolf’s ears.
“Stupid rabbit,” he said with a harsh chuckle and that gleam settled into his eyes again. “It’s not my blood. She bled so prettily though. It’s a shame I was interrupted.” Briefly his eyes shifted with the memory of the way the siren begged and pleaded, the way she yelped and cried when he slashed open her cheek and tore her ear off with his teeth. Ethan did lick his lips again.
“You’d bleed pretty too,” he cooed, and he stepped closer to Rowan, still holding his wrist in that iron tight grip. Bruises would surely be left of fair skin when he let go. If he let go.