Ah, so that's why it had been easier to think straight after the werewolf had ripped out his throat. He shudders at the sense memory, one hand flying to his neck, making sure the flesh is still whole.

"Of course," he asserts in answer to her question. He was, wasn't he? Why had he let go in the first place? Because he wasn't thinking straight. The anger had blinded him, skewed his thinking. What guarantee did he have that wouldn't happen again?

None. The anger was still there, just in the werewolf. What did that mean? Nothing good, surely.

"I need to lessen the rage. I need to control it," he tells Rachel. The problem there is he doesn't know how.