Werewolf Hunting Rules.

Chapter 487 The First Rain of Spring
"Good evening, Miss Lydia. Are you here to kill me?"

Clayton had to ask first, because Lydia didn't seem to want to talk.

A marriage that was almost finalized but was still ruined, and a fiancé who suddenly became a family enemy—anyone would be unhappy if they encountered such a situation.

It's perfectly understandable to want to get rid of the instigator.

“Yes, kill him now,” Lydia said, but she didn’t make a move. She maintained her balance by stepping on the edges of the two boats. Her werewolf strength allowed her to hold the two boats together. Her beautiful green eyes were fixed intently on Clayton.

Lying on his back, Clayton felt as if they were two stars set in the night sky, along with the fragrance emanating from her.
She still smells so good.

Unlike when they first met, he wasn't impeccably dressed; instead, he was covered in blood and bruises.

"Hmph, but I'm the sun now," Clayton thought to himself.

The wolf's blood is still boiling.

Lydia put some pressure on her foot, and Clayton's boat began to tilt toward the side she was pressing against.

“Edwards, I only now realize that it was a pseudonym. I laid my heart bare, but you didn’t take it seriously. I really want to tear open your chest and see your true heart in another way.”

Clayton couldn't lie there any longer. Even if one of them was going to die, he had to clear his name now.

"I have to say there was a reason for that."

He propped himself up with his arms, and the werewolf's heavy body could cause the ship to rock with any movement.

“A member of the elders’ council of Sasha, forced to visit a rival power in search of two missing assistants in his secular business, has to be careful. It’s not honesty to explain everything to someone who might become an enemy; it’s foolish.”

"However, aside from my worldly identity, I can still guarantee that everything else I say is true."

"Sweet talk," Lydia commented.

“Think what you want, I won’t explain anymore. If you want to fight, I’m ready anytime.” Clayton stood up, his burly body covered with still-wriggling wounds from his chest to his right leg, his wolf tail hanging between his legs. This body language indicated that he had no intention of taking the initiative to fight for the time being.

Lydia's gaze swept over the wounds one by one, then she looked away and withdrew her foot from the ship beneath Clayton.

"Fine, you've already paid the price for your fooling. Defeating you when you're weak won't give me any sense of accomplishment. Next time, I'll allow you to take advantage of my leniency for a while."

She withdrew her foot, but the two boats continued to sail side by side.

Because Clayton stuck out his foot.

The beast-like right foot stepped into Conionne's ship, keeping the tin-clad creature firmly in place.

“Wait a minute, miss, I can’t agree with that. You think I need your leniency to survive, but I don’t think so. Perhaps the opposite is true; it is you who need my leniency to survive. During the last battle, I didn’t sense any superior strength or skill from you compared to mine.”

"Even now, with many injuries, I believe I can still defeat you with the strength I have left."

He looked down at Lydia with a puzzled expression; her human form seemed to be only half his height. "You walked up to me, said those things, and without doing anything, not only saved your own life but also made me owe you a favor. Isn't that cunning?"

These words, though unintentional, were extremely sarcastic. Lydia's face turned from white to red, and the pupils in her green eyes dilated to the extreme.

Although Clayton already had night vision, the moonlight made the difference even more obvious.

"You scoundrel, do you think that's all I'm capable of?!" Lydia roughly shoved her right hand into her collar and almost ripped the buttons off.

"Then let's see your limits now."

Clayton was satisfied, and his gaze toward Lydia became fervent. He exhaled a long breath, and white smoke drifted from his mouth full of sharp teeth. The bloody smell, diluted by the river breeze and fragrance, became strong again. His ears on his head drooped back, while his tail rose behind him to prepare for battle.

Even after a series of battles, he still felt he had plenty of energy.

As long as he receives a duel invitation, even if he only has one arm left, he will fight on resolutely.

Regardless of whether the opponent is male or female, human or something else.

Lydia took off her clothes one by one. She didn't wear the kind of lace-up suits that fit different body types, nor did she have the ability to jump out of her clothes when she transformed, which meant it would take her a little longer.

His tall figure is the result of long-term exercise, with well-defined muscle lines.

This is the body of a warrior.

Clayton admired the body and patiently waited for it to unleash its true power.

The woman's strong and healthy body swelled up, and tough black hair emerged from under her fair skin. Her mouth lengthened, her ears moved upward from the side of her head, and her tail extended from her tailbone.

Just seven seconds later, Lydia reverted to her more primal and powerful true form—a werewolf slightly shorter than Clayton, but with a fully intact body. The two werewolves faced each other, without howling, only colliding and tearing at each other simultaneously.

The boat beneath their feet is the ground upon which they rely for support and exert force. Each exertion causes the "ground" to sink deeper into the hull, dispersing the water waves. After a short time, the boat rises again, embraced by the backflowing water, only to be pressed down again by the werewolves' brute force. The black waves spread out in concentric circles from the hull.

The two noisy ripples intersect and disappear into each other, just like the struggle between their sources.

The two kinsmen each extended their claws and interlocked their fingers with each other's to fix each other's position. Then they used their free hand to make a fist and strike the opponent's body, or to tear flesh apart with their claws.

Black fur and blood splattered, but the two werewolves remained silent.

Despite her injury, Clayton was still slightly stronger and faster than Lydia, but her familiarity with shipboard combat made up for the difference, making the final outcome uncertain.

The environment restricts them from fighting freely, and the werewolves' amazing regenerative abilities make this battle predictably long.

To kill your opponent, you either need to destroy their vital points or drown them in water.

Clayton was determined; he had killed beautiful women before, including two tonight. They were either stunningly beautiful or voluptuous, but he showed no mercy when they offended him.

Moreover, from a human perspective, a werewolf has almost no female characteristics except for its breasts.

But his attacks on Lydia subsided without him even realizing it.

When they came into direct contact, the fragrance he had been deliberately ignoring became intense again, and there was no escaping it.

Driven by his self-righteous emotions, Clayton stepped into this natural trap.

Her scent aroused him.

It was as if ground musk and amber were burning in an incense burner, and the fragrance emanating from Lydia's thick fur contained a vibrant life force that resonated with Clayton, making him unable to resist.

As the aroma filled his nostrils, completely overwhelming his olfactory organs, Clayton's thoughts soared to the clouds. The pain he had endured lessened, and the power and speed of his claw strikes gradually decreased, almost as if he were grooming his opponent. Lydia's attacks also weakened. This might be an illusion caused by his drifting thoughts, or it might actually be true.

Clayton could no longer tell whether he was attacking or not; he was only focused on making that alluring fragrance continue to emerge.

To smell the aroma of basil, you must first tear it into pieces and then rub it in your palms to warm it.

The werewolves on the ship were still hurting and tearing at each other, but the meaning of their actions had changed. Blood and sweat were the carriers of fragrance, and they did this to better enjoy each other.

If we were to describe their behavior in human language, it would be called caressing.

Clayton saw the same emotion in Lydia's eyes. On the female's softly sculpted black face, her moist eyes looked at him longingly, and at that moment he was as attractive to her as she was to him.

They still had plenty of energy, but a particular emotion made them lethargic.

Seeing those affectionate eyes, Clayton barely remembered the purpose he had set at the beginning of the battle. He mustered his last vigilance to fight against this depravity and was determined to end the battle quickly. So he simply exerted his strength and jumped onto Lydia's ship.

The weight of the two werewolves caused the boat to sink rapidly, and the waterline was only a hand and a half away from submerging the hull.

The violent struggle caused the boat to rise and fall in the water, teetering on the edge of sinking. The surging waves pushed Clayton's original small boat further away, leaving him with no way to retreat.

The blood flowing from the two beast-like bodies pooled at the bottom of the cabin, making it increasingly difficult to stand.

Clayton finally found an opening. Taking advantage of the moment when the ship floated up again—a moment when it was difficult to maintain balance—he twisted Lydia's right arm with his left claw, pulled her sharply to the right, turning her to the side, and then slammed his heavy body into her, knocking her to the ground.

The ship began to rock violently again due to the violent collision.

Lydia lay in their shared pool of blood, while Clayton pressed tightly against her, the she-wolf's vulnerable nape almost within reach, just a bite away from piercing it.
Clayton slowed down.

His claws pressed against the bottom of the cabin beside Lydia's head, but he could not hold on any longer.

The fragrance has filled this isolated island on the water.

Lydia was far from exhausted, but she no longer resisted and instead lay down obediently.

Clayton stared at the black nape of her neck, his chest heaving like a bellows.

"Is the duel still going on?"

He himself didn't know why he asked such a silly question.

The next moment, his body shrank back to human form, and his black hair receded into his fair skin. Clayton couldn't see Lydia's expression, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her shapely hand down on the back of his neck, wanting his wolfish kiss to be close to her skin.

"Don't capsize the boat," she whispered.

Clayton understood.