Daisy's breathing is ragged, tight. Adrenaline and bloodlust and maybe something that skips the blood part entirely and fear and anger and pain, all of it surging through her, loud and violent and making her head spin.

It would be so easy. Rip her throat out, claws or teeth would do it. She won't fight back. (Why? Why is she doing this? Why—) She can prove what she is, show Erin the huntress, the predator, the monster, the things she knows she is and for so many years was utterly unashamed of.

What words come, come through gritted teeth and shaking breaths. "You made. That promise. To a woman you don't. Even. Know."

The scent of blood. Fresh and right there and so easy to make more of—

Daisy lets out a frustrated, guttural noise and jerks away so hard she might leave more damage in her wake anyway.