You had meant it as a joke, a teasing comment as you play-fought in your living room, calling him a puppy and telling him how he couldn't hunt a mouse, let alone another hybrid or person. It was the silence that followed your words that made you look back at him, tilting your head as he stared you down, his tail not wagging anymore, and his ears pinned back as he snarled at you, promising that he most definitely would hunt you down.
And now here you are, running through the streets of your suburb, twilight making the shadows darker and everything more nerve-racking as you can't quite tell where your friend-turned-hunter is.
You had seen him a few times, even had him running behind you at one point, deliberately slowing himself so that you could lead the chase, his fingers snatching at the back of your shirt every now and then as if he would grab you only to let you pull ahead again. You thought you had lost him as you ran through a crowded park, using the throng of people attending some event to hide your direction of escape from him.
Your lungs burn as you turn a corner and tuck yourself behind a laundromat, hoping the dryer vents and the smell of lint would hide the scent of you.
Perhaps teasing a dog hybrid about their hunting abilities isn't smart, nor is taking a bet that leads to you being hunted down across the suburban area you live in, crouching down to make yourself smaller and to catch your breath, means you miss the sound of footsteps as someone has finally found you.
The spot you had run to had thrown him through a loop at first, but the moment between dryer cycles was all it took to find you, the scent of you and your sweat leading him to the little corner you were tucked away in.
Walking slowly towards where you are crouched down, he looms over you, tail wagging slightly as he matches your crouch and leans in close, his face next to yours as he growls. Your scream is cut short as he pushes you down, pinning you against the ground under the dryer vent you had used to hide your sounds and scent, his tail wagging a mile a minute behind him.
He'd hunted you, chased you, and now he had caught you in some loud but hidden little corner and the whole time he had been running on the thrill of the chase, the toying with you and the little fake outs that let you break away from him time and time again. But now he had you under him, and the adrenaline had run through him, making him uncomfortably hard under the sweats he had chosen to wear, nudging his face under your chin as he ran his tongue along your neck, swiping away the sweat clinging to your skin.
This bet was won in his favour, and he had the perfect prize right here. With you under him, the sounds of the vents and the laundromat will hide the noises he is sure to pull from you, and who would he be to waste a perfectly good post-hunt nut on anything other than pumping a well-earned load into you?
Plus, he's sure you'll look just as good on his knot as you do pinned under him.