[i][color=007236]Rain turned to downpour. Wind slowly picked up.[/color][/i]

There was an wicked sense of satisfaction in decay.
To not shatter something outright, but strip away layers of self.
Until only the raw truth was left, the core of an identity was laid bare.
Hale knew it was a dangerous game. When you force creatures to be themselves..
It brings the monster out. Sometimes more literal than other.

The moment the hammer stopped dead in it's tracks Hale knew he'd struck gold.
This was it.
Hale's grip on the hammer loosened, he could feel the force on it and knew it was forsaken.
Accompanied by a screech that flooded his audible senses with pain a pale claw reached out to him.

Hale has no real instincts to speak off. Not if you'd ask any other werewolf in any case.
But a combination of reflex and the tantalizing scent of scorched vampire skin kicked what little instincts he had left into gear.
Before he'd recognized what happened his stupid smirk had opened and caught the claw. The searing pain of sharp nails scratching his tongue brought tears to Hale's eyes and strength to his jaw.
As his thick canines sunk into scarred white flesh the brilliant taste of Kami's blood clouded Hale's mind.
[i][color=ed1c24]Bloodlust.[/color][/i]