As the concrete bit into Wyatt's cheek, a pulse of pain shot through his arm, momentarily clouding his senses. Then, as quick as a flash flood, the pain receded, his advanced healing dulling the edge to a dull throb. Anger surged, a fiery river through his veins, but it wasn't alone. An unexpected thrill raced alongside it, entangled with an even more surprising emotion—lust. It was Evan, the one man who could stir such a tumult within him, a maelstrom of desire and fury that had Wyatt teetering on the brink of both.
The anger was familiar, an old friend to werewolves. But the excitement, the sheer magnetic pull Evan exerted over him, was something else, something dangerous. It was an urge not just to strike but to hold him, to grasp him so tight it might smother them both. A grin broke on Wyatt's lips, an amber glow flickering in his eyes as his wolf rose to the surface, reacting to the proximity of a challenge.
Wyatt chuckled, the sound dark and filled with unspoken promises. "It's also never a good thing to attack your Alpha," he growled, putting a biting emphasis on 'your', He knew full well this would get him to momentarily pause and some kind of a reaction out of the larger hybrid.
With a swift motion, like the crack of a whip, Wyatt jerked his head back, connecting with Evan's with a satisfying thud. The word "Motus" slipped from his lips in a low chant, his free hand shooting forward, directing a burst of telekinetic energy Evan's way. Fight, maybe exchange words, then end up in a different kind of intensity, that seemed to be their thing. Not even Wyatt fully understood it, but he knew he liked it.
