"Are you f*cking nuts?" Jason ground out in a whisper, his hand clamped tight over the human's mouth. "Why are you here? Do you want to get eaten? Infected? Worse?"

Life had been...well, strange was an understatement, really, since he was first cursed with lycanthropy. At first, Bruce and Tim had tried to help him, with no success—Jason's condition hadn't relented, and the transformations had continued.

The conditions for him to transform were a bit more complex than just the standard full moon thing. Not that the full moon thing wasn't a thing; it was very much a thing. Just not the only thing. At first, he'd transformed whenever he was angry, which to be fair was often. He'd had some control when in werewolf form, but barely. But that hadn't been the problem, really. The full moon cliché, however...

See, when the full moon came, Jason didn't just transform into a run-of-the-mill werewolf; he transformed into a massive, hulking beast with crimson fur and a strong preference for tearing people apart. His rampant fury had been such that he'd actually clawed his way out of the special cage Bruce had designed for him, leaving the metal twisted and gnarled. If Bruce had been even slightly slower or less smart, Jason would've eaten bat for dinner.

After that, Jason had decided it was too risky for him to remain with his family. He'd left the manor without a word and ventured off into the woods. The call of his kin had been an instinctive thing; he'd soon found himself a pack and, in its aging alpha, a mentor. He'd learned to control his transformations, to temper the full-moon-induced bloodlust, and to accept his newfound condition.

He'd severed ties with his past, he'd thought, until four years later this lunatic waltzed right into his pack's territory.

"These people are not nice to humans like you," Jason warned, his eyes fixed on the human's throat. "They will kill you, crunch you up, and use your skin to make a rug. Why the f*ck are you here? You need to leave. You need to go, right now."