We growl and lunge, swiping long, sharp claws at Jameson. They connect, slicing into his arm. He jumps back, surprised by the sudden attack, but he shouldn’t be. He’s seen me fight before, when he was a bit younger.
My teeth snap at him, inches from his throat because he rolls and then shifts. He lands on all fours, shuffling back with a chuffing growl.
The little prick is laughing at me.
He darts forward, jumping, but I dodge his attack and clamp my teeth around his hind leg. Satisfaction swells within me when he yelps and tries to wiggle free. It’s no use, though. I lock my jaw, driving my teeth into the bone of his leg.
A pained howl breaks through the loud shouts from the crowd. Some of the shouts are angry, coming from the Bluemoon Pack members that came with Jameson, and othe
