There were two men left. They both smelled like fear, though neither were backing away. Maybe they were ninja. Maybe they'd just realized it was futile.

Maybe they'd noticed the great black shadow melting from the trees, paws leaving bloody prints as he walked. Kuromaru licked his chops, sucking flesh off an eyetooth. His pupils were ebony circles, gold ringing them. Tsume guessed hers were just as dark.

Ryouma smelled good. She could catch it every so often, under the potent scents of blood and rot and orange. He smelled tired, and full of adrenaline, and not at all like she was used to non-Inuzuka partners smelling. No edge of wariness, no uncertainty at a kunoichi who didn't act like a proper ninja should, who enjoyed the fight too much.

He smelled like excitement and bloodlust and exhaustion. Like pain but not fear. Like the edge of soldier pills but not the soldier. He smelled like Pack, but not anything like Pack.

The sense of predator sunk claws into Tsume's mind as it realized it didn't have to back off to keep a mission partner happy.

She smiled behind her mask, a low growl vibrating from her throat. One of the ninja circled and, apparently sensing the same exhaustion from Ryouma as Tsume was, dove for the tall man.

Kuromaru streaked from the trees, silent as darkness against the ground. The ninja seemed to expect him; he turned, crouching and forming jutsu. He aimed, chakra blasted, slamming into the wolf-dog leaping toward him.

The wolf-dog exploded. Shrapnel flung in all directions, forcing the ninja back in a hurry, protecting his face.

Kuromaru dropped his henge and snapped in behind the man, teeth sinking through skin and tendon, hamstringing the human.

The shinobi went down screaming as Tsume spun to face the other one, her head tipped and shoulders snaking behind.

Apparently, he'd decided close combat wasn't the way to go. He yanked out shuriken, throwing three before he even moved. Tsume dodged but felt one slice her shoulder open anyway, the heat of poison sizzling over her skin.

Crotch-rotting bloodworms. With a snarl she whipped a kunai up, still moving toward the trees, toward cover, as she cut into her own flesh and skimmed the infected injury off.

It wasn't deep. Didn't have to take muscle to get rid of it; just skin. Adrenaline kept it from hurting too much. Her blade was sharp enough to cut without tearing, peeling off flesh before pain registered. Inuzuka-blood made it react like it shouldn't; she had no way of knowing if that was better or worse.

The ninja was running. Smart, if cowardly. He wasn't fast enough; low level chuunin, maybe. She shoved chakra into her muscles, her legs, spinning it from Kuromaru to herself and back again as she borrowed claws and fangs and strength and speed.

By the time she took the man down, blood had run red and clean all the way to her wrist. At least it didn't burn anymore.

The chuunin died quietly. She hoped Ryouma hadn't wanted any of the rest of them.