It's stupid of him, really, to try and fight a pack of wolves with boxes stacked neatly in a row.
Wyatt knows there's something off the moment he sees them, from the way they're perched, from the way they smell, from the way one doesn't stick close enough to the next, revealing the dirty secret that hides behind them.
His mistake, Wyatt thinks with a smirk as he moves closer, reaching out. Wynter is steady at his side, a shadow of his movements. He bares his claws. A growl rises from the back of his throat.
A box knocks over from across the alley, tumbling against the pavement loud enough to catch their attention. Wynter looks over, more startled than she should be, but Wyatt has trapped greater beasts.
This prey is no different.
The boxes in front of A-Lan fall as Wyatt swipes them away, and before the alien can gather his bearings his back is shoved against the wall, claws pressing dangerously against the skin of his throat.
He looks terrified, Wyatt thinks, and doesn't turn as Wynter howls. It's always easier when they're scared. "Did you really think you could get away?" A-Lan attempts to swallow. Wyatt's grip tightens in warning, just in case he doesn't understand the position he's in. He tries to sink back, and Wyatt can hear him struggle as he attempts to form words. "What's wrong?" he asks, though he knows he shouldn't. "Wolf got your tongue?"
Something in A-Lan's gaze turns cold. His throat bobs against the palm of his hand. His skin is freezing to the touch.
Wyatt hears his sister before the rest of the pack. Always the leader, always the one to trust, always ahead. Her shoulder brushes against his as she comes to a stop next to him, Wynter still watching the outsider carefully from his other side.
"You should've left when you still had the chance," Willa spits, words fierce. "Why do you want the moonstone?"
The air around them is heavy with oncoming rain. The alley around them is thick with the stench of a traitor. Wyatt knows A-Lan can talk, and he knows that he's choosing not to. His moonstone flares at the implication.
He catches the way his eyes flick down to look and snarls in response. Eager eyes meet eager ends.
"He's not going to talk," Willa mutters angrily when the answer seems clear, taking a step back. "Let's go." Wynter turns with her, leaving Wyatt to handle him, and he smiles wide as he pushes his claws deeper into unmarked skin, for the show of it. He wonders what kind of life one must live, to be unmarked.
"You heard her," he says when the silence drags on for longer than his liking. "Let's go."
He goes to pull his arm back, to readjust and maybe shove claws into his back as he walks along, but A-Lan is faster. He moves in the same second that Wyatt does, two fingers reaching for the metal brace that hugs the backside of his hand.
It's stupid of him, really.
Blood tears from the skin of his arm as Wyatt's claws run across it, metal thrown from his hand less than second later. It clatters across the alley loudly, and Willa's head turns.
"Do you need help with him?"
"Don't insult me," Wyatt says easily as he throws A-Lan forward. He allows him to think he's going to slam into the ground before catching him, claws curling into wrists as he shoves him toward his sister. "I just wanted to let him think he had a chance."
She watches her brother for a long moment, unamused, before rolling her eyes and following behind the rest of the pack, Wyatt a step behind her. As the alley fades into the darkness of the night, the forest looms closer and closer.
Wyatt hears A-Lan inhale sharply.
He smirks, and shoves him forward.
