Fenrir really only had one choice.  He knew that.  Some would say he could try to ‘talk’ to Belle, to try and reason with her, to calm her with his words.  Those people would be wrong.  He’d been in her position before, caged by fury and animal passion, the Call of the Wild the only thing in your ears.  There was no reasoning when the beast was in control.  Action was the only thing she’d understand now.  

Belle leapt from the pilots chair, began stalking towards the leader of the Outsiders.  He didn't wait for her, instead taking the initiative himself.  [I]'If you mean to win then you have to attack'[/i], was advice that Carter was apt to repeat back in the early days, advice that Fenrir had lived by so far.  He leapt up and forwards, teeth grit as his hands curled around the twin rails that ran the roof of the cruiser, from access port to cockpit.  He swung his legs forward, aiming to double kick the beast that Belle had become in the face.

All he could think about was how sorry he was, how this was his fault for taking her in the first place.  About how the seconds were ticking away.