To Jett, it wasn't quite as satisfying mauling a victim who wanted it opposed to those who sobbed and begged. The hunter in him wanted Toby to run, to beg, plead for his pitiful little life. Oh, but Toby wouldn't die. Jett was stuck with Tobias York. Interesting.
When Toby took Jett's hand (paw? Whatever you wanted to call it) it was enough to make the Skinwalker pause in his assault. How oddly romantic. Jett had to admit that by the time he was mauling people, they didn't usually wanna be romantic, not even the ones who liked pain.
What the fuck did Toby want him to do with that? Oversimplification would have stated that Jett was the same from one form to the other, but that wasn't true. When he became a canine or a Skinwalker, things got wonkier in his brain. There was the here, and now, there was blood and baser instincts. He knew only as much as he absolutely needed to at any given moment. While Jett didn't have many things that made him human, he was completely monster like this. Like watching from the inside out.
The Skinwalker met Toby's eyes, its own completely black and empty. He reached out and tore Toby's shirt from his body with one swift move that likely left long, deep claw marks along the ferret boy's torso. Jett tore his hand from Toby's grip so he could get better leverage when his teeth dug into Toby's leg, and he shook his head. He'd rip the pants off the same way he'd done so with the shirt -- viciously and messily.
Then, Jett backed off as though he were testing something. The Skinwalker lowered his head and watched Toby with all the focus that a predator gave its prey. He wanted Toby to fight, to run, to do something more than take it, because what fun was an easy meal? While Jett could have verbally communicated his desire, he had no inclination to do so. There was just something about talking in this form that went against instinct when he wasn't just mimicking someone's voice.
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