Drakon was out hunting.
Quite unusual for him really, as it was day; he preferred to do his hunting under the moon's light.
Some odd twist of the stars or something had him out, though, restless and growly, belly rumbling, cock half-hard and rubbing against his leggings.
He wouldn't change yet, it took the fun out of the hunt, tipped the scales too far in his direction. Not that they weren't already tipped.
He let his instincts lead him deeper into the woods, moving further and further away from his Estate.
He moved closer to the road, scenting ... something. Fear? Pain? Panic?
The trees opened to a clearing, and he found three people, one held still by the second while the third landed one blow after another. He growled. Well, that didn't seem quite fair. And on his grounds to boot.
He sprang into the clearing. "Unhand him."
"Unhand him? Look you fucking freak, whether this pansy ass gets beat or not ain't your business."
He growled again. It was personal now, and these two thugs were about to become dinner.
A knife came out, the beaten man slumping to the ground as he was dropped. Two men advanced upon him, sweating and angry, full of rage.
Oh, this was going to be fun. They wouldn't taste the nicest, but the fight they'd put up should be more than worth it. He growled, fingers growing claws as he swung, taking the knife bearer across the chest and leaving four deep grooves.
"Jesus Christ!" The man screamed, taking a step back, shaking his head.
Drakon threw back his head and laughed. "He can't help you now."
Another swing caught the second man in the throat, leaving him to fall to the ground, bleeding out.
The first man turned to run, legs pumping as he tore into the trees. Drakon gave chase, letting the man think he had a chance before bringing him down with a deep bite to the back of the neck.
Drakon let the beast out, devouring this one whole before going back to finish off the other. The taste and smell of blood made him roar and feast, growling. They tasted sharp and stringy, but he'd had worse.
When the feeding frenzy eased, he heard the sounds of retching, the wounded man having crawled a few feet away.
He caged the beast once more, cleaning himself on the tattered remains of his shirt and approached the last man cautiously.
He recognized the red curls and long, thin nose, the bright yellow-green eyes, even swollen and bruised--the boy from the coffee shop. His new pet.
Anger filled him, and if they had still been alive, or even just uneaten, he would have torn the two attackers to pieces. As it was, he had the satisfaction of having protected his own.
Bending, he picked the boy up. A soft sob filled the air, the boy curling into his arms.
"It's okay, my Pet," he murmured, stroking the boy softly. "You're safe now."
He would bring his Pet home.
The soft, hot cheek rested against him, the trust instinctive, true. As it should be.
)
