For a brief moment, Miles doesn't -- he tightens his grip, face curling in a snarl of his own, between indignant and shocked that the pup is back on his feet, even with poison coursing through his veins with every heartbeat. Those cold hands squeeze hard, feeling the delicate bones of Kurt's wrist grinding together, painting bruises into their fair skin. For an instant, Miles is ready to fight back.

But there's an echo of ferocious, murderous rage coming through the link, the pack hearing at last that something is wrong. A lone howl pierces the air, followed by another and another, a chorus of fury coming rapidly closer. And Miles is, at his heart, a coward.

So he releases Kurt, let's them twist away -- almost. In the heartbeat of time he has, he grabs their wrist, wrenches it up to his mouth and bites hard, filling his senses with the sweet taste of their blood. It isn't as deep or careful as a true claiming bite would be, but it's enough. Enough to let Corrigan know how close Miles was, how easily he could've stolen the pack's mate away. How foolish the Alpha had been.

"See you soon, Kurt," Miles murmurs through the mouthful of blood, before slipping back into the woods and out of sight, moments before the pack bursts into the clearing.