Vincent is not in fact, food. He knows this. Eating things that can talk was revolting above and beyond the idea of raw meat (though that last one seemed quite fine at the moment), so even if the ex-Turk were to suddenly drop over stone dead, he wouldn't be on the menu.

But this doesn't change the fact that Vincent is not doing what he's pretty sure the man should be doing after giving up his prey, namely submitting.

Part of him knows what that should look like. The hawk knew, the lion knew. The levikron and lizard knew only a rival, and if there's one thing the jumbled tangle of instincts knew in unison is that if someone didn't submit or back off, they absolutely were a challenger.

He can't help but agree, when the hand twitches towards the holster. Someone needed to learn their place. The prey is gently set on the roof of the nearest vehicle, and a heartbeat later he lunges across its hood with a loud offended snarl in a shower of pebbles and dust.