[ They would run together when they were young, nails clicking against the cement floors of the shatterdome, bare toes sinking into the soft earth on the rare occasion that their fathers would lead them away from the urban sprawl and out into the wild. When she was a girl Mako didn't like her wolf form; she hated the way it felt to change and the smell of blood would make her human form sick, a scrawny thing with milkpale limbs curled up and gagging amidst a ruin of animal skin. She would hide whenever she donned it, saving that lithe silhouette for moonlit nights and for behind closed doors. Chuck made it easier, of course, because Chuck made everything easier for her back then. (Not like now, when everything is tooth and nail. Blood from a stone. You, not us.)
Chuck looks away and Mako growls at him. (Growls like look at me. Growls like touch me.) As he turns, the line of the back of his neck sharpens along his shoulder and she feels the urge to bound upwards and sink her teeth in and never let go.
(Maybe he's right, maybe he's all wrong but Mako doesn't care and never has. She wouldn't be a wolf at all if it wasn't for him.
That makes her his, whether he likes it or not. That makes him hers, too.) ]
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Chuck looks away and Mako growls at him. (Growls like look at me. Growls like touch me.) As he turns, the line of the back of his neck sharpens along his shoulder and she feels the urge to bound upwards and sink her teeth in and never let go.
(Maybe he's right, maybe he's all wrong but Mako doesn't care and never has. She wouldn't be a wolf at all if it wasn't for him.
That makes her his, whether he likes it or not.
That makes him hers, too.) ]