#doctorwrites

And yet Alastor stepped up to his challenge, ears tipped dangerously to the left as he met Lucifer shot for shot, determined to show this dead-beat dad what years of drinking moonshine will do for one's alcohol tolerance.

Why, he was barely drunk, just a little tipsy when Angel had his next great suggestion. A drinking game! Truth or dare spin the bottle. How droll! But an excellent way to get embarrassing information out of someone. And if they refused? Well take a drink, doll and dear Alastor will get you on the next round, don't you worry about that.

But alas, he must have used all his good luck in the battle because never once did he land on Lucifer. No, he was forced to ask the lessers. Hey Charlie, what do you really think of the carousel your father put in the garden (Ugggghhhh I hate it dadimsosorryyyyy). Husker, tell us who's got your fwuffy wittle tail wagging like a lovesick pup? (Fuck you.) Nifty! Who's the baddest boy of all? (You sir, heeheehee!) Dear Vagatha (Not my name, culo, and fuck whatever you're gonna ask I'm drinking.)

And on the flip side, he happened to be the singular victim of their one and, if you asked him he would deny it, only beautiful porn star with shockingly good aim.

"Oh-ho-ho! Alright mista tall and creepy. Truth or dare?"

Alastor felt his eyes roll. "Truth but do try not to be crass."

"Nah, not when I got you drunk and willing." Angel winked and Alastor suddenly wondered if he should have chosen dare. No…no, a dangerous option when he was at the mercy of a horny spider. "Are you a virgin?"

Typical. "No."

"I fuckin' knew it! Pay up Whiskers, I told ya' there's no way he didn't get his dick wet at least once!" Angel made grabby hands towards said cat demon, face lit up and eager as a substantial amount of money was placed in his palm. Alastor made a mental note to teach Husker a painful lesson about not gossiping about his owner's private business.

"You're kinky right? Inta some wild shit? C'mon Al you're among pals—"

"Your question is done, Angel." Clipped. Final. Please stop. What he liked in bed was for—no. Now was not the time to think of Her.

Unfortunately, Lucifer couldn't help himself. "Please! Bambi is such a prude there's no way he's—"

"Kindly—," Alastor let his static overtake his voice as he snapped his head towards the worse of the two angels, eyes flickering between radio dials and their usual red as he glared, "—fuck off!"

Then Angel got him again. "What's the kinkiest shit you've ever done?"

"Eaten sinners whole, my turn!" Alastor promptly ignored Angel's whines of "That's not a fair answer!!!!" before he took his turn (daring Nifty to sit in Lucifer's lap, if only to watch the devil squirm uncomfortably.)

And then Angel got him again, Hell preserve him. "If you could fuck one person in this room right now, why would it be me?"

He drank on that one. At least Angel looked a little put out that there was still one person in Hell who didn't want to jump his bones.

And again. "Are ya the silent type or the loud type in bed?"

He drank. It had been so long ago that he honestly couldn't really answer that one. Fuzzy memories of teenagers giggling, clumsy hands and nervous shushing as they tumbled around their old treehouse. They had no choice but to be quiet but had he had a chance to have her in their bed….well, who's to say?

"Do ya like girls or boys?"

"Neither." Entirely true! He has only ever been interested in one person. Not one person had spiked his interest in the 20 years he had after Her death nor in the hundred he had spent in Hell. A disappointing answer for Angel who scoffed and said, "Gimme somethin' to work with here Red."

"Do ya have a tail? Like a cute little bambi tail?"

He drank. He did but no one needed to know that one. He could already see the poorly disguised attempts at someone trying to get under his coat to catch a glimpse of it. Too bad said tail was securely tucked under his waistband.

And all the while Lucifer was making snarky comments beside him, little bitchy things that made Alastor want to strangle him with his bare claws. "Fucking your hand doesn't count as kinky." "Aw, can't fuck anyone because you know no one wants to fuck you?" "Oh, loud and whiny for sure, like a little bitch!" "Neither because no one wants you, ha!" "Awwww, don't want to show us your fwuffy wittle tail?"

Maybe it was time to give the dares a chance if lady luck insisted on fucking him sideways tonight.

"I dare ya to give us your best orgasm moan. Without the radio filter."

Drink. That privilege belonged to one person and one alone.

"I dare ya to give us a little show. Just take off ya tie and jacket in the sluttiest way possible."

He gave Angel that one, giving direct eye contact as he slowly pulled the tie undone with a slow lick of his lips as Lucifer whispered, "Holy shit" beside him. Then he reached for his glass and slammed it back, his other hand lashing out to give Angel the middle finger. He had only ever wanted one person to look at his body and it sure as fuck wasn't anyone in this room. Dear god, he would be mortified to defile himself in front of the ladies present.

"I dare ya to tell us the name of the foxy thang that took your virginity."

"Hey Angel," sweet Charlie, dear Charlie, "Maybe we lay off Alastor a bit?" She was drunk as a skunk and laid up in her girlfriend's lap for the last hour, tapped out as she watched her friends and…father (ugh) tease and rile each other up.

"I concur! What I do or not do in the bedroom is my business alone I fear."

Angel pounced, "So no lady friend? Boy friend? They friend? Just ya hand and whatever vintage shit ya can find, eh?"

"Angel!" Husk this time, probably tired of hearing his would-be love interest so focused on getting his jollies off to Alastor's secrets.

"I'd listen to Husker which is not something I say very often—!"

"Oh puh-lease," fucking Lucifer louder than he needs to be as he waves his hand around, sloshing Beezlejuice on Alastor's thigh. "Of course he's alone! What kind of person would willingly fuck the creepy dude, ya know?"

Alastor felt his eye twitch, distant memories of his favorite smile drifting back to him along the lazy waves of alcohol completely flooding his system. He could admit he was drunk now but years of experiencing prohibition left him quite talented at keeping his inebriation on the down low.

"I mean," Lucifer scoffed and turned to face Alastor, askew hat the only thing revealing how drunk he also was, "They'd have to be just as fucked up right? A terrible judge of character. Like, what kind of idiot—"

She was not an idiot. Never an idiot. She was the smartest person Alastor knew.

"—like seriously, was this before or after you started killing because how stupid were they—"

She wasn't stupid.

"—Bet they were just as ugly as you, huh? C'mon there's no way Jack Skellington over here—"

How dare he! She was…she was…she was his and that meant she was beautiful and macabre and looked at him like he put the moon in the sky for her.

"—Y'know I bet they don't even exist! There's no WAY Prude-McGee over here ever actually—"

She does exist. He has done his best to not think about her for 113 years. He has tried to forget her birthday, her death day, how the sun shone in her hair and the way her laugh warmed his heart. He tried and failed to forget the way her fingers felt against his cheeks and way she kissed his knuckles, he failed to forget the years spent running through the bayou and streets of New Orleans. He failed to forget the way his heart fluttered when they cuddled in the swing, the warmth of her against his side as she pointed out each constellation.

He failed to forget the moment he realized he loved her, young and foolish they were, wading through the water bare-footed and catching frogs with their hands. All the near misses with the gators and snakes, all the fights with the group of white kids that liked to terrorize their neighborhood, the found bones and the teaching each other of their own native magicks.

He failed to forget all the moments they could have had, the moments were she should have been at his side. She should have been there to marry him instead. She should have been there for their daughter's weddings. She should have been there to congratulate him when he graduated college, when he got his first job at the radio station, when he was able to buy their girls and his momma their house.

And he…he should have said 'yes'.

"—Please, Alastor's not capable of loving or being loved by anyone else. He's made it abundantly clear that—"

"Shut up." Alastor's voice cracks and everyone but Lucifer hears it, heads snapping towards him with wide yes as they fear what their local murderer will do next.

"—"love is a weakness"." Lucifer spills more of his drink as he brings his fingers up in mocking quotations.

"Shut up," louder this time and Lucifer snorts at him.

"What, Bambi? You gonna tell me that the great Radio Demon stooped so low as to actually love someone?" Lucifer scoffed and rose to his knees to be of equal height to Alastor sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I don't buy it for a minute."

Alastor felt his horns elongate and his bones creak as his anger began to mount. "You shut up right now Lucifer. You don't know anything."

"No? Then tell me Al, were is this person you love, huh? Because anyone crazy enough to love your psychotic ass belongs in Hell—"

No. NO. NO! She was too good for him, always too good for him and she would have never come here. No! She was in heaven, he was sure, up in heaven with her daughters and away from the one man she had loved and trusted and was betrayed by. He never deserved her in life and he certainly didn't deserve her in death.

His fist collided solidly with Lucifer's stupid noseless face, his bones cracking as if he had punched marble but he didn't care. "How dare you," his hissed as he pulled his other hand for another punch, radio squealing as he broke that one too."

"How. Dare. You!" He launched himself at the stupid angel, his eyes wide in surprise as Alastor's claws caught in his vest and he slammed the smaller man into the ground. "She was an angel! She was everything!"

Alastor felt himself lift Lucifer up and slam him back down, over and over until the floor cracked and yet the stupid porcelain doll refused to break. "DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK ABOUT HER AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME LUCIFER? DON'T YOU EVER!"

Another painful punch to the side of Lucifer's shocked face. "EVER!"

And another despite the hands pulling at his jacket. "TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT AGAIN OR I'LL RUN YOU THROUGH WITH ANGELIC STEEL AND DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES YOU MOTHERFU—"

"ALASTOR!" Charlie's voice, cutting through the static of Alastor's anger as she shoves him away from her father. "Stop! Please."

Four pairs of hands release Alastor but they hover, ready to grab him and hold him back again at the first sign of him launching himself at Lucifer. Charlie dotes on her father. Her completely unharmed, albeit a little dusty from the broken floor, father.

He hates it.

He hates all of them in this instant.

He doesn't understand how he got here. Too much battle. Too many near misses. Too much drinking. Too much Lucifer, always pressing his buttons and bringing out the worst in him which is saying something because Alastor absolutely is a sociopathic, cannibalistic, sadistic, serial killer with a penchant for riling up others for his own entertainment.

'Fuck all of them,' he thinks before sinking into shadow.

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Memories. So many fucking memories he had tried to bury once he decided there was no way She had ever set foot in Hell.

Memories that were buried when he found Her husband and killed him again. Over and over and over until he was able to source a single angelic dagger and deliver a final death to the man he hated above even his own shitty father.

Memories that refused to fade away and always rose to the surface when he drank in excess. When he lost himself upon the river of misery and let himself be carried away to the last times he had ever been considered innocent.

Even now Her face remained in his mind's eye, always haunting him as he vaguely wondered what Hell would have been like with Her at his side. Would She have admonished his indiscriminate killing when he was angry? Would She have liked the little coffee shop on the corner that served raw bacon on a doughnut if you asked nicely? Would She have saved him from selling his soul?

No.

She would have died by an exorcist blade as any other sinner. The two of them powerless as babes if he hadn't sold his soul for power because he was always the one who needed to protect her, to care for her, he should have cared for her why didn't he? Why did he ever think that she would have been better off without him? Why? Why why why why—

"Uh, hey Al?"

Oh for the love of—

"Get out." He was too tired for this. He just wanted to see Her one last time. And maybe…this time he wouldn't be a coward.

"I'd love to, trust me." Lucifer rounded the corner of the chair Alastor was slumped in, looking all the world like he shoved lemons in his stupid cheeks. "But Char-char insisted I…apologize."

Silence as two old men stared at each other. There was no fight in Alastor as he let his gaze drift back to the green fire with eyes unfocused. "Well, go on," he prompted when Lucifer continued to stare at him. "Kneel if you wish, beg my forgiveness and get out."

"The day I kneel before your—ugh no, wait." Lucifer breathed deep, fingers pressed against the nonexistent bridge of his nose in frustration as he pressed his eyes closed. Alastor counted to ten before those eyes opened back up and Lucifer looked down at him, head tilted curiously as his forked tongue poked out just a little to taste the air.

"I really hit a nerve, didn't I?"

"Observant as ever, my king!" More insults sat on Alastor's tongue but he found he did not have the energy to speak them. Blah blah your daughter your missing wife just leave.

Lucifer tasted the air again, mouth drawing into a thin line as he settled, uninvited mind you, into the chair besides Alastor's. They let the silence drag on, Alastor content to let the intruding angel twitch. If he weren't drunk he would have relished making the other man so uncomfortable, he would have pressed his sharp tongue into the wound where his fallen pride leaked out, tearing it open with each pointed quip about his failed marriage, his inability to rule, the years he left his daughter on her own and how he still failed to get Vaggie's name right despite insisting on staying at the hotel for weeks.

"I'm sorry Alastor."

"For…?" Alastor smirked at the sharp intake of breath, ear twitching as he waited for Lucifer to continue.

"…For speaking ill of your…honestly I don't know what they are. Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Don't tell me you were married."

"That doesn't sound like an apology to me~~", Alastor's voice warbles in a mocking sing-song, a sad trumpet sound punctuating the end of his sentence.

"For fuck's sake you make this so hard—"

"She should have been my wife."

"—I'm trying to…oh."

"Yes. Oh."

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, eyes darting this way and that for any clue about how to continue this ill-fated conversation. "She died then? Before the wedding?"

Alastor let his eyes droop farther, hands steepled on his stomach as he considered whether or not he wanted to entertain this conversation. He eventually settled on using this uncomfortable topic to teach the brat king to mind his own business. He was capable of easing his sorrows on his own. This was a lesson.

"We were never engaged."

"But you should have been?" Now it was Lucifer's turn to prompt, his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin upon clasped fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No.

Yes.

Fuck him this was not how this night was supposed to go. He was supposed to get shit-faced drunk, sleep and wake up early enough to blast music through everyone's radios as he summoned them all for a hungover buffet. Not spill his life story to this…this…oh damn it all!

"Where do you want me to start?"

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He started at the beginning, as most stories do, when he was a little boy no more than 8 when the new family moved in next door. A white man with close cropped hair and a stance that reminded Alastor of his own father, happily deployed and far away from him. Whatever 'deployed' meant. All little Alastor cared was that the man wasn't around to hit him or his momma and that was just perfect.

And a woman. The most beautiful woman his little eyes had ever seen with her tanned skin, black hair and brown eyes that shown with so much warmth that he felt her kindness even from his second-story hiding place. Her voice was rich, musical as she spoke in what Alastor would soon recognize as Spanish to her husband, gesturing happily to the house and laughing in joy as she ran her fingers over the blooming rose bushes that lined the porch.

Why, little Alastor was in awe. Another family like his! He hoped they had a boy he could play with. He was awfully bored playing on his own since the girls down the street shrieked and ran whenever he tried to show them the frogs he caught. He had just gotten a new BB gun from his father and was desperate to take it out back to shoot cans and it would be so much more fun with a friend!

He remembers running down the stairs, happily calling to his mother as he tried not to stumble down them. Darn his growing feet!

"Momma! Momma! There's a new family! Do you think they have kids? Can we go check? Please please please!"

"Easy darling," Claudette cooed as she smoothed down his hair. "Let them get settled first."

"Awwww, but I wanna play nowwwww!"

His mother's laughter filled their kitchen, warm and soft and by god did he miss it. "Tell you what my little mudskipper, help me bake some étouffée and we'll bring it over for dinner."

"Only if you do the crawfish." He may have only been eight but his hatred for the little creatures was strong. He remembered scrunching his face, sticking his tongue out in disgust as he watched his momma clean the critters. He still despised them, grown up and dead as he was. A shame they tasted so good.

They had gone over later that evening, little Alastor practically skipping the whole way and resisting the urge to knock on the door over and over again until someone answered. He only knocked three times like a good boy and rocked on his heels excitedly as he waited for his momma to catch up.

The door opened and there was the pretty woman he had seen earlier, her long hair pulled up in a high pony tail and the smell of something mouthwatering on the stove wafting from behind her. "Hello ma'am! I'm Alastor! A pleasure to meet you! I'm your neighbor! Do you have any kids?"

"Allie!" His mother's admonishing voice snapped his jaw shut and he scooted away to hide shamefully in her skirts. "Hello dear, I'm Claudette just over next door—"

Alastor didn't remember much of this conversation, barely paying attention enough to learn that the woman was named Sofía and her husband was named Robert and that they did indeed have a little girl around his age he could play with until their supper was ready. That was all he needed to hear, rushing ahead in the direction of a pointed finger and booking it into the backyard he had spent years looking into from his bedroom window.

That was where he had first met her. An odd thing currently coaxing the neighborhood tom cat into taking the food from her hand. He had noticed too late, his boisterous entrance startling the creature and causing it to hiss and growl before darting back over the fence. The girl turned around, face scrunched up in fury and her hands balled at her waist as she glared at him.

"You scared him!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"Well you did! I worked so hard to get him down here and now he won't come back!" She had the same lilting accent her mother had, deepened by her childish anger. "Who are you anyways? What are you doing in my backyard?"

No need to be polite when momma wasn't around, right? "I'm your neighbor. Alastor. And your momma said I could come back here and play with you but only if you be nice!"

The girl looked him up and down, huffing once before she dusted her hands on her skirt and placed them back on her hips. "You're skinny"

"And you're short."

"I like you."

He hadn't known it yet, but the flutter in his chest was the first flutter of love stirring. "I like you too."

"You know, I'm having a real tough time picturing you as a kid." Lucifer's voice interrupted Alastor's storytelling, amusement in his throat as he chuckled. "Like, there's no way you were cute and cuddly. Not when I have 7-foot of murderous cannibal right in front of me."

"Believe it or not sire, it does not change that fact that I was adorable!"

"Uh-huh. So…what was her name?"

"Who?"

An audible eye-roll as Lucifer leaned back comfortably in his chair. "The girl! You gave me everyone else's names but not hers. You remember it, right?"

"Of course I do!" It came out sharper than intended but…

"I haven't…I haven't spoken it out loud since…since she died. It still hurts, even to this day."

"Oh," Lucifer answered lamely, "Continue on I guess?"

"Yes indeed!"

They had grown thick as thieves almost immediately, constantly at one house or another, slipping through the broken fence panel to play pirates or soldiers or princess and her knight. Unfortunately, Alastor was the princess more often than not. Something about his "pretty eyelashes", damn Her. They spent years sitting on each other's porches, helping the other with homework and lamenting how their teacher always had a stick in her butt. They did indeed chase frogs and catch fish and hit each other with exploding cattails until the sun set and it was time to go home to be yelled at for getting mud all over their clothes.

By the end of their first year as neighbors they were inseparable. One could not find Alastor Laveau without finding Her right alongside him. Of course, they were teased about how they were going to be married one day and they reacted appropriately: screaming "EEEEWWWW!" at the tops of their little lungs and retching dramatically as their mothers giggled.

But Alastor felt it, deep down in his heart, that it wouldn't be too bad to marry Her. He would find a good job, get Her a nice house and never ever make Her cry! No sir! He'd be a good husband and treat Her right and never hit Her because She would cook for him and mend his clothes and they could go hunting together instead of just leaving Her home alone all day. And when he caught Her eye in the middle of their faux retching, rolling on the floor and pretending to choke and die because the thought of marrying each other was so awful, he thought She felt the same.

Of course, they had shared darker things as well. Both their mother's practiced magic, closed practices that they shared in hushed tones and only in the comfort of one another. Their husbands content to let their women have their silly beliefs and keep their bones and their herbs and put oils on their children's foreheads so long as they still went to church on Sundays. And that meant that the children also shared, swapping spells and meanings and borrowing from each other as they wove spells of protection around their houses and communed with the spirits that flitted around the bayou.

She took to it better than he. Eyes often wandering as she caught glimpses beyond the veil, fingers weaving sigils and head tilting to better hear the dissonant whispers around them. But he was the better provider, always bringing her the dead animals they found or dispatching what would be necessary for Her to collect the bones, spying rare herbs in the woods and growing the plants needed for the four of them to practice happily. He was content to let Her flourish in the practical, never once envious of Her abilities and only a little proud that he was the better summoner in the end.

His fondest memories would always be the warm summer nights they spend together as She carved and anointed her newest creation. His best friend, for it had been three years of Her near constant company so he felt he could call her that, was a talented jewelry maker. She spend most of her free time creating earrings and necklaces with the animal bones they found, placing spells on them if asked and carefully wrapping each one with shells, feathers, or dyed twine as needed. Her momma had said it was her Calling and happily watched as her daughter sang under her breath, little Alastor beside them cleaning the last of the muck off the newest bones and keeping his mouth shut about how odd he thought it was that Sofía was keeping a blanket on her lap despite the warm weather.

Or that she didn't chase her little hellions around much anymore.

Or that She had to do more of the cooking now because Sofía was too tired sometimes.

Sofía died just shy of their fourth year as Alastor's neighbor. A weakness in her body. Something that poisoned her blood and left the beautiful woman a husk of her former glory. Her boundless black hair turned brittle and dry, her lips and soft cheeks shriveled and wrinkled, her delicate wrists turned bony and Alastor remembered thinking that if he looked at her too hard, he just might break her.

He remembered holding Her as she cried, wracking sobs against his chest as She clung to his thin neck. He never uttered a peep about how Her nails dug into his back, how itchy his shirt was where Her tears had wet it, how Her shallow breaths against his neck caused him agony as he could do nothing but hold her and hum the lullabies his mother used to sing to him as they stood together at the funeral.

"Of course, my mother adored Her so She at least still had that." Alastor resisted the urge to sniff as he recalled the way She had climbed up the trellis and into his bedroom window, soaked from the heavy rain and Her own tears as She struggled to tell him Her mother was dead. He had held Her that night, warm and snug in his own bed and clothes as She sobbed and sobbed and cursed the gods for taking Her momma away.

Twelve years old seemed mighty young for an agony like that.

The rest of that year was not a fun one. For an entire year, Alastor lost his friend as well. Her smile had dimmed and she only half snorted at his jokes. She no longer hummed along with him as they did their homework. She spent more time inside, taking on more womanly duties and losing Herself in the scrubbing of tile when She should have been elbow deep in a deer's guts with him, divining their fortunes for the next month.

She came back to him the next summer, eyes a little less sparkling but there was more mirth in Her smile as She looked up at him.

"You grew?"

Well yes he had! Five whole inches that required a lot of work on his momma's part to adjust his clothes. If only to cinch in the waist.

"Well that's rude," She snorted and reached a finger out to poke him in the belly. "Still skinny though."

And with that, they were back to their old shenanigans: running around for as long as they could without worrying their parents. That summer was the one they had managed to build a tree house in the tree that sat in Her yard, right at the fence line so its boughs shaded both. Her father had always intended to build it for them but after years of waiting…well, teenagers were never the patient sort.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop after all and what else was Alastor supposed to do with the unwanted carpentry skills his father taught him out at their hunting cabin? Ugh. No, those were awful memories but this…this was a favorite. Her mocking laughter as he berated Her for not understanding his instructions again. His threatening to kick her out the tree if She didn't hold the damn wood straight. The way they lay under the stars, huddled in a blanket under the unfinished roof as they talked and talked about what life would be like when they finally finished growing.

They even held a little ribbon cutting ceremony, Robert and Claudette the only others in attendance as they cut through an old sheet. It was rickety. It was small. But it was theirs.

For four years they had done their best to escape their harsh realities. A girl who was forced too young into minding a house that her mother's ghost still haunted. A boy who's father fell further and further into drink and instead of beating his wife, turned to beating his son. She had fixed him up more times than he could count, asking permission to curse his father or just outright poison his food.

Sometimes he took Her up on it.

Just a little pokeweed here and there to give Renée Boudreaux the worst shits of his life. Nothing more than that for Alastor swore that if anything was to kill his father, it would be his own two hands. She simply nodded along and promised to help him bury the body in the swamp and be his alibi: No officer, Alastor was here the entire time, helping poor little ole me with the furnace!

And then they'd laugh and move on until it happened again.

At least until his father drunk himself into a stupor one night and got himself hit by a car.

Now it was his turn to climb into Her window, tears running down his face despite the lightness in his heart. His father was dead! Finally!

But not by his hand. By his own stupidity and another man's bad luck.

It was annoying. Frustrating. He was robbed of an opportunity that was by all rights his!

And still the tears came. But She held him, tucked securely under Her chin as she hummed her own lullabies. He fell asleep that night in the warmth of Her bed, perfectly manicured nails running up and down his back as he clung to her like a child.

She forced him up early the next morning, shoving him out the door and into his mother's arms. "Where you should have been!"

"She was right of course," Alastor sighed and reached into his jacket to pull out a well loved cigarette case. "I should have stayed with momma instead of running off to avoid feelings. He may have been a shit father but he was her first love." He lit a hand-rolled cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting the burn of the smoke settle in his lungs before exhaling. "For what little that was worth."

"Huh. Gotta say, I'm surprised at you Alastor." Lucifer chuckled and tilted his head against his fist, "I really expected you to be the 'Killed-his-father' type."

"Not for lack of desire! Trust me," Alastor growled, "Only the fear of what would happen to me for killing a white man stayed my hand." He tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully before adding, "For a while," with a chuckle.

Lucifer hummed thoughtfully and conjured his own cigar: a large bulky thing because of course he did. Alastor bit his tongue to resist the urge to make a 'compensation' joke; low hanging fruit and all HA!

"Sooo….not to be a creep or anything but uh, little sixteen year old Alastor alone in a secluded tree house with a girl…?" Lucifer's eyebrows damn near audibly wiggled as he pulled from his cigar.

Alastor felt his cheeks redden, antlers creaking as they grew to three prongs before he reigned them in with a roll of his eyes. "Why is everyone…Ugh, yes! She and I…"

They had been sixteen, curled up against each other and reading their own books peacefully before Her voice broke their silence. "Timothy tried to kiss me today."

Alastor remembered being confused, "What now? Why?"

She had shrugged, "He asked me to go to the soda shop this weekend. I said yes since he's always been nice to me and then he tried to kiss me."

Oh, he hadn't like that. "I'll stab him! What makes him think that he could—!"

Her laughter interrupted his little outburst, "Hahaha! Al, it's fine! I uh, I actually panicked and slapped him so I don't think we're going to the soda shop anymore."

The sound of her laughter was a soothing balm across the burning in his chest. "Good! You can do better than Timothy."

Her answering hum seemed to say, "Oh? You think so?" but she said nothing, returning to her book for a page or two until her voice broke the silence again. "Have you ever kissed anyone, Al?"

If he were drinking something he would have spat it all over the wall. "Wh-what?! No!" Panic laced his voice as he whirled around to face Her. "Have you?!"

"Nope," she let the 'p' pop and didn't look up from her book, turning her head to try and hide Her reddening cheeks. "I've wondered about it though." Alastor didn't like that thought and he swallowed the ugly feeling in his throat as She continued talking. "Lacey is obsessed with kissing the Drummonds boy and Kelsea keeps talking about how she can't wait to get her First Kiss. I don't get it. Makes one curious, ya know?"

No, he didn't know. He hadn't thought about kissing anyone ever except for his future wife who did not at all resemble the young woman right in front of him. Nope, nuh-uh, please mind your own business before you learn what the business end of a knife feels like.

"No-o?"

"Really?" She pouted and peeked up at him through her lashes, "Never ever?"

Alastor panicked and looked everywhere but Her. "Never!"

"Oh…," She pouted and looked away, mind visibly warring as Alastor's panic continued to grow. "Do you…Can we…? Should we try it?"

And there went Alastor's last bit of sense. "Yes!" Breathy. Desperate. He felt so silly as his skin warmed and itched, his mouth drying out as he struggled to swallow. It was worth it though to see her face light up.

"Really?! Cause I was kind of curious and you're my best friend so I trust you but if you don't want to that's okay because I don't want to make things weird and should I stop talking because I feel like I should stop talking I'm just nervous because I know you don't even like touching people so it's a really big thing I'm asking but there's no one else I—"

He had shut her up with a quick press of his lips against hers, barely a brush that shoved their noses together more than their mouths but it was thrilling all the same and Alastor swore he saw his glasses fogging up as She looked up at him with wide, stunned eyes. It was a very silly expression and the most effective way he had ever gotten to shut her up.

So he kissed her again. Longer this time, enough to feel her shakily exhale against him. And again. And again. Finding the wet plushness of her lips to be more enjoyable than he could have ever imagined. In fact, it was more than enjoyable. It was downright addicting and they soon found themselves wrapped around each other, his hands respectfully on her hips as she settled into his lap, arms around his neck as they kissed until called in for dinner.

It quickly devolved from there, from quick little make-out sessions between chores where Alastor pressed Her against the fence to hours in the bayou where they only stopped when his new growing mustache irritated her skin. Somewhere along the way their hands had wandered, slipping under the hem of a hiked skirt, pressing against a broadening chest, fingers tangling in hair as they took turns pressing the other down into the cushions of the tree house or the soft grass of the forest floor.

It was Alastor who pressed farther, fingers undoing buttons and nosing along newly exposed flesh, teeth teasing tender skin and drawing out breathy moans that quickly became his new favorite sound. He didn't feel like sharing the lurid details with a man he hates but let's just say it didn't take more than a year for the two of them to figure out the horizontal tango. Quick and quiet and only once in the comfort of a bed that was rudely interrupted by Her father coming home a whole two hours early, resulting in Alastor having to sneak out of her bedroom window in just his underwear as She did her best to pretend there was not a half-naked teenager visible from the kitchen window.

"I didn't even need to do that! It's not like Her father was going to go into her room. I had plenty of time to get dressed and sneak out properly. Probably would have avoided the nasty bruise on my ass too."

"And miss out on a quintessential human teenager rite of passage!?," Lucifer laughed and wiped away a small tear.

"The worst part was the lecture I got from momma the next day. Turns out she saw me."

"No!"

"Yes!," Alastor slapped his knee with a chuckle. "Nothing like suffering through the birds and the bees first thing in the morning. I do believe it was the first time I ever wanted to die, ha ha."

Oh yes, it was embarrassing. Mortifying.

Didn't stop them though. Their parents turning a blind eye to the tree house even as Claudette not so subtly delivered a certain bundle of herbs that would ensure the two teens would continue their child-free lifestyle.

"Wait, it sounds to me like you two were definitely an item." Lucifer's voice was questioning, "Did she die before you could propose? Or did you just hit it and quit it?"

Irritation spiked through Alastor, "Rude. Have some patience and I'll get there. The next part is…shameful."

Of course the two of them were an item by now, confirmation whispered against swollen lips about two weeks after their first kiss. It was an expected thing, something seen as inevitable by literally everyone around them. How embarrassing to have been so transparent from nine years old.

But then they turned eighteen and Alastor turned his eyes towards the future. His future. He was going to be a radio host after he finished college. A northern college where a man like him had a better chance of success. It was going to take everything he had, every single dollar he had saved with his summer jobs, every bit of his father's pension and every bit of his stubborn pride.

He had been called over to Her house to speak to her father. Just her father. He was alone in the kitchen, Robert offering him a glass of fine scotch as the grandfather clock in the hallway tick-tick-tocked every silent second.

"Alastor," Robert's voice was tired as he fiddled with his own glass, "I like ya boy. Like the son I never had."

Alastor's heart had fluttered. He was pleased. Scared.

Robert finished his drink in one go, awkward as he ran his hand through his short cropped hair. "I'm dyin' son. Gonna meet my dear Sofia and the Lord, maybe not this year but maybe the year after. Something about my liver." He punctuated this by filling his glass again, "Not surprising, eh?"

No. Military men tended to be drawn towards the drink and the cirrhosis that followed. Alastor just nodded along and sipped at his own, eyes squinting from the burn as he struggled to figure out where this conversation was going.

"I need to know that my little girl is gonna be taken care of. She needs a man to take care of her. You understand me?"

"Y-you want me to marry her, sir?" Alastor had planned on it. Later. Way later. When he could actually provide for her. Not now, not when he was ready to move and be poorer than dirt with no clear future.

"I'd like it son, I really would but I know you got plans to move up north and I don't want to get in the way of that. You got a real good future ahead of you." Robert fiddled with thumbs, eyes downcast as he sighed, "And if you can't, don't worry about it. I got a guy lined up. A real good guy. A long time friend only ten years older than her. He just got promoted too s-so I know he'll be able to provide, he can give my girl everything she needs right now. He's a good fella, ready to settle down."

Alastor had felt his world spinning, shrinking down to the taste of good scotch. "Of course sir. She deserves the world."

"Glad we agree."

"I can't…I can't promise that right now." Alastor's throat burned. "C-can't it wait? Until after I graduate?"

"Four years is a long time to wait and I won't last that long. Is there a reason you won't marry her now?"

He had plenty of reason. He was going to be too poor, flying by the seat of his pants as he exhausted everything he had to move across the country with no job lined up. Much less a place to live. He was going to be forced to leave her alone, working as much as he could while going to school full time. She would be neglected. Lonely. Forced to live off his meager wages in some poor neighborhood, wondering if she would have enough food to last the week.

All that with no guarantee he would land the job of his dreams. He didn't want that for her. He wanted to show up as her knight in shining armor, knocking on her door as a radio host on prime time, keys to their new house in hand and the car ready and loaded for a quick courthouse wedding and honeymoon in the mountains. That would take him years. Years he no longer had, it seemed.

He told Robert as such mechanically, eyes distant as he realized what was going to happen when he was gone. Fuck.

"It's alright son. Maybe you'll still get your shot, we military men don't tend to live long."

Yeah.

"She thinks she's going with you, you know."

Alastor had startled out of his stupor at that. "W-what? But we haven't even discussed…I just got accepted how can she—"

"You know her, probably just assumed you'd ask."

Alastor's heart sank. They had discussed it, in a way, Alastor fumbling through his plans for college as she encouraged him. Daydreaming with him about what life was like up in the Union states. He thought they were just shooting the shit. He hadn't even proposed! Why it would have been completely improper for the two of them to live together unmarried!

"I-I hadn't planned on it."

"I know son, I'm really throwing a wrench in your plans." Robert slapped Alastor on the back apologetically, "You really won't marry her?"

"I can't…I have nothing to offer her except a life of hardship."

Robert nodded sagely, "It's alright son. It's the right decision. It's okay. She'll be taken care of."

"Of course," Alastor finished his cigarette with a heavy sigh, "She was angry. At me. At Robert. Despite women her age being married off all the time. It was her father's right to do so, to guarantee she would be well off. He couldn't put all his bets on the scrawny kid next door with only enough money to his name to take the train up north and a week's worth at a boarding house.

"Robert's only certainty was that he was going to die soon and that his daughter would be hounded with us both gone, leeches desperate to wife her for her house, her money. She'd be alone and undefended and that simply would not do. She didn't care though. She was so angry at the two of us. So much so she actually stopped talking to me after that. Four months of radio silence, the stubborn girl.

"The last time we talked was at the train station." Alastor remembered it like it was yesterday, the tug of her hand around his wrist. She had spoken so softly, a suitcase in her other hand as she whispered, "Tell me you still love me, Al."

"Of course I do." He swore his heart was physically breaking.

"Then ask me to go with you. Please Alastor, don't leave me here. I won't love him like I do you. I don't care if I have to sell myself on the damn streets please just ask me too—"

"I will not," he had to steel himself. This was the correct thing to do. "Did you come here to berate me or are you going to say goodbye after throwing a fit for months?"

He had hurt Her, beyond repair as She let him go, eyes brimming with tears as she backed away. He told himself she would be fine, she would get over it, she would come to love her new betrothed and live a happy life where she would never need to wonder where her next meal came from.

"Damn, that sucks man."

"Eloquent as always, Lucifer."

Robert had died just as he predicted, one and half years later on Sofia's birthday. Alastor remembered grieving, silent tears spilt on his mother's letter. 'At least he was able to walk his daughter down the aisle. I'm sorry you couldn't come dear, it was a beautiful ceremony and she was the most beautiful bride.'

He would get updates like that. Monthly letters from his mother that told him the going ons of the neighborhood and what the new hot gossip was. He learned She had moved to the good part of town in a beautiful home with a large private yard, he learned that She was expecting barely a month after the wedding and that Claudette had been asked to be Her child's godmother. He had learned that Claudette didn't like Her husband, something about the way he looked at Her that reminded her of Alastor's late father, god rest his soul.

He had learned that She was growing quiet, demure. She had stopped practicing her magic, unable to keep bones out in the sun to dry in their fancy new neighborhood. He had learned that her first child was a daughter, little Alexandra who was the spitting image of her mother. He had learned that She was quickly with child again and was an excellent mother, always putting the needs of Her daughter even above her own. She was growing thin even as her belly blossomed and Alastor forced himself to stop wishing it was him at Her side.

Claudette began mentioning Her less and less as she herself was invited to the house less. She was always on his mother's mind though and she lamented that she felt she was losing both children and that it was about time Alastor came home to visit. Her second daughter was born, Irene who was once again the spitting image of her mother. Claudette was to be her godmother too and was invited to the birth to be Her support despite The Husband's insistence that it was not necessary.

Guess he learned too little to late that Claudette was a force to be reckoned with when she needed to be and dammit, her little girl had asked for her and by the gods above and below she was going to be at her side.

And just like that, four years passed. Four hard years in which Alastor worked himself to the bone, neglecting himself in the ways of love and sleep but always hungry for music, dance and food. Life had had it's ups and downs and now finally he had gotten the job he always wanted. He was headed back home to a small radio gig on the off hours with a chance to work prime time when the other host called out. It wasn't as grand as he wanted, but it was enough.

He had done it!

And in a few more years the prime time spot would be his! Life was perfect.

Almost.

The sorrow he felt upon returning home and seeing Her old house, a new family in it that he did not recognize, hit him like a sack of bricks. He had known she was gone for five years now, he had known she was married and with kids and he had said that awful thing to her at the train station and yet…he didn't really accept it until now. Some part of him was still expecting Her to be there, leaning against the porch railing with the sun in her hair and a soft smile upon her lips as she welcomed him home.

It made him sick.

She had four years to write him. Four years in which she knew where he was because Claudette had told him that she had passed along every new address he had. Five years in which he had held on to Her's, writing letters he would not send, like a coward.

It was fine. Claudette had visited recently to spent time with Alexandra and Irene, adamantly refusing to mention anything about Her beyond that she was worried for her health. That She was looking thinner than ever and that Claudette wondered if maybe they could hire some help with the babies.

Alastor never wanted to know more than that. The fact that she was alive would be all he needed.

Another year would pass and once again, his life would turn upside down because he saw her. He saw her! And his stomach fell through the floor. Claudette hadn't seen Her in that year, always given an excuse as to how She didn't feel good or that the house was a mess or the girls were sick. But Alastor now knew why his mother had been denied her godbabies.

She was thin. Painfully thin with a healing bruise around her eye covered in heavy makeup. Her hair was lifeless and She walked with a limp that had nothing to do with the toddler on her hip or the one walking unsteadily beside her. Alastor didn't recognize Her at first, only hearing Her voice and turning his head this way and that to find Her, heart in his throat as he struggled with what he was going to do when he saw Her.

He had only known it was Her by the scar upon her forehead. A thin line that ran from above her mid-right brow and ended in Her hairline from a tumble out of a tree when they were fourteen. Alastor remembered that day clearly, they had been racing and it was one of the rare times that he had won, leaning around the tree to mock Her before the branch She was stepping on snapped and down She went.

He had stared at that bright red slash across Her forehead with guilt, turning into a blubbering mess when he tried to explain to Her father what had happened. He could never forget that scar.

So he stared. And stared. At the woman he had once loved, at her two daughters that should have been his. Her eyes, while saddened now, still held the same sparkle in them that was always directed at him though now She only had eyes for the little ones clinging to her. She didn't ever see him, so focused on Her shopping and making sure the older one, Alexandra, didn't wander away.

Naturally, he followed them home. He blended in now, his clothes new, freshly pressed and neatly tailored so that he barely stuck out in their fancy neighborhood. He still kept his distance, using his height to his advantage as he let the masses get between them.

He followed them to a beautiful two story house, white with blue accents and a wrought iron fence. He passed it by, doing his best not to seem like a lookie-loo as he entered the little wooded area right next to the property. It had good trees. Perfect for perching. Which he absolutely would not do.

Not today anyways.

No, he would come back later in the week. In the night and dressed more casually.

He had just been checking in. Just making sure she was okay.

He just wanted to know if her deteriorated state was from the stress of raising two children so close in age or…

He watched. Silent as an owl as he shimmied up a good tree that had a branch that faced Her dining room and bedroom windows.

He watched as She limped after giggling toddlers and sang and dance with them despite the obvious pain She was in.

He watched as She flinched at the loud noises curious toddlers made when they dropped things down the stairs.

He watched as Her eyes went blank when her husband came home, pushing her dinner around aimlessly and never taking a bite, nodding appropriately when needed.

He watched as She undressed, not because he was a voyeur but because he caught an eyeful of the bruises that littered her body. The large one on her thigh that was causing her limp, the bruise around her eye free from makeup, the small ones that littered her ribs and concave stomach and the faded, barely there ring of them around her throat.

He watched as Her husband stormed into the bedroom after the girls were put to sleep, his wallet held in a fist as he shook it at her, never yelling but speaking so harshly that She flinched, arms across her body as if to stay the blows that had not yet come. The wallet was smacked across Her face, Her shoulders, Her back when She turned away.

He watched as She tried to reason with him, eyes wide and begging as she fell to her knees, pleading.

He watched as She dodged the first backhand, scrambling on all fours and making a mad scramble towards the door.

He watched as Her ankle was grabbed, Her husband finally making a small yell of rage that was still contained so as not to wake the children.

He watched as She kicked out, catching him in the ribs and knocking him against the bed and rising fast enough to reach the door.

He watched as she was slammed against it, a fist connecting with the back of her head and slamming her nose first into solid wood. The crimson smear of her blood on the white door was so startling, so haunting that Alastor almost couldn't understand what he was looking at until he heard the blows.

One after another given in blind rage, at the audacity of Her resisting her god-given husband, until her blood began to coat the floor.

He felt his limbs stirring as hands wrapped around Her throat, fingers pathetically clawing at an iron grip.

He moved recklessly, using the tree to launch himself over the wrought iron fence. The grunt of pain Alastor let out was nothing compared to what was happening above. The sounds of her choking so loud to him in the silent winter night that he wondered why the neighbors were not all out scrambling to see what the ruckus was.

He found the back door to be unlocked. He didn't even try to be subtle as he stalked in, body on autopilot as he walked through the kitchen he had been watching all evening. He passed the fireplace and grabbed the fire poker, never altering his stride as he ran up the stairs two at a time.

He did not hesitate when he pushed open the bedroom door, catching Her husband in the face as he turned at the commotion. He pulled back and brought the poker down with both hands now, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until it broke in the red and white mush that had once been Her husband's face.

Lucifer was distraught, hands over his mouth as he leaned into them with his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows were pulled up, eyes full of concern and pain as he listened to Alastor describe his first kills. And yes, kills. Plural. For he was just as responsible for the husband's death as he was Her's.

"No…no Al…you weren't responsible. It wasn't your fault—"

"WASN'T IT?," Alastor didn't care that he yelled. This was a painful memory dammit and he deserved to be listened to. "If I had only moved earlier, from the first swat instead of waiting for there to be blood she would have lived! But I was a coward! I panicked! And I let her die!"

He had checked Her the moment he came to, cradling Her broken face with a sob, fingers on the pulse that would no longer move. He tried CPR, hands pressing her chest up and down and whimpering 'Nonononono' under his breath when her head lolled lifelessly to the side, the sickening crick in it telling him that her neck was broken.

He tried to set it. Futile he knew, but he couldn't just leave her like that. Some mad part of him hoped that by snapping Her neck back into place She could somehow still be revived. As if somehow instead of a disturbing grind of bone he would hear a snap! and Her eyes would flutter and look up at him instead of over his shoulder.

He had stayed there for hours, tears refusing to fall even as he whimpered between great heaving breaths as he struggled to understand what he had done. Eventually he rose and went to the bathroom to wash the blood of his hands. His face. There was nothing to be done about his clothes but he would borrow the nice full length coat the husband had worn home and dispose of them all when he got the chance.

And then he called the police. His voice was not is own, hollow and dead as he told the operator the address and that there were two dead people in the master bedroom. It wouldn't do to let the little one's walk in on that scene.

And then he walked out the front door.

He didn't remember making it home. He just remembered waking up in the shower, the fuzzy memories of what happened the previous hour already fading. He tossed the soiled clothes in a bag and shoved them under his bed. Into the hidey hole they had made from the loose floorboards.

She had always promised to be his alibi. Here's Her chance, he supposed.

He climbed into bed. Exhausted mentally and physically, mind foggy and reeling, limbs filled with static as he lay there in the dark, listening to the ringing in his ears as he watched the sun slowly rise.

His mother burst into the room when the sun was fully risen, eyes red and tears spilling as she cried. In between the sobs he heard her, "She's…dead! She's…oh my god…Alastor….She's…dead!"

For whatever reason, it was his mother's acknowledgment that the terrible night was real that finally had his tears flowing, his throat tearing as he sobbed with the guilt of what he had done. They held each other, wailing and cursing whatever entities had let Her go so violently.

"We need-", Claudette sniffed and shook her head, "I-I need to go get the girls. I'm their godmo-other and they n-need me."

Alastor nodded along, "Of course…I'll get the car. Just…tell me how to get there…"

The house was just as he had left it, peaceful and serene despite the mass of cops trampling the lawn. Claudette had sobbed when she caught sight of the two little girls, weaving between outstretched white hands demanding to know who she was and what she was doing at a crime scene.

Alastor smoothed it all over, his radio persona slipping on as he schmoozed and calmed the officers, doing his best to explain that yes this black woman had every right to see these white children. Here are their papers from the church up the street, confirmation that Claudette was their godmother in the eyes of the Lord. As if two little girls screaming, "Abuelita!!!" wasn't proof enough.

They were precious things with their big doe eyes and matching set of hair, their soft curls disheveled from sleep and their cherubic cheeks irritated from crying. Alexandra asked for their mama over and over again, her little two-year old lexicon limited to "Mamá? Mamá? Where mamá??"

"She's…Mamá is in heaven dearest. It's okay, shush now. Let's bring you home with me, cher. It's finally time we had that sleepover. Here, Alastor, take her will you?"

"What—? Momma I don't—okay." He stood there, arms outstretched as he held the two year old under her armpits, briefly panicking as he realized he had never once held a kid. But Alexandra looked at him with big eyes, searching his face before she smiled and made grabby hands at him, squealing as she said, "Tío! Tío!"

Alastor let her grab him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck as she clung to him like a leech while supported comfortably in the crook of his arm. "Uncle?", he had asked stupidly.

"Do you think I never showed my best girls a picture of their uncle? Nonsense boy. I got a whole album I used to bring by filled with all the pictures I took of you two growing up. She always…," Claudette's eyes watered again as she remembered days of fond reminiscing over the past. "Well, lets just get these darlings home and go on from there."

"Holy shit, you had kids?!"

Would Alastor's hackles ever get a rest this night? "Is that so surprising!?"

"YES! Dude you suck so much ass and are a literal soul dealer what part of you screams 'father figure'? You sure you didn't just give those poor things daddy issues?"

Alastor scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I'll have you know that I was a very good dad."

"No shit?"

"None whatsoever. Why, what's the phrasing….I was a certified Girl Dad!"

Lucifer pondered a moment, looking the deer demon up and down before nodding his head. "Yeah, I can see it actually. There's something about you the makes women flock to you despite the creepiness."

Alastor smiled and preened under the praise.

He had in fact, fallen head over heels for those two little girls from the moment he brought them home and saw them waddling down the very same hall he and their mother had chased each other, screaming and laughing as they avoided hitting one another with sticks. Why, he barely let his mother lift a finger when he was home, taking over parenting duties from the moment he stepped over the threshold.

He adored watching Irene as she drank from her bottles. He loved watching Alexandra smear spaghetti sauce over her face and barely flinched when those messy hands grabbed his shirt. He cried just a little when Irene started calling him Papá and actually sobbed when Alexandra first told him, "Good night daddy, love you!"

"I knew they weren't mine, obviously but in some way I felt as if they were the children We were meant to have. It didn't matter who their sperm donor was because I still saw myself in their little faces and wicked grins. They were mine."

They even carried his last name, a gift given to him for his 36th birthday. Two small courthouse documents, dated the day Irene had turned sixteen that proudly declared his daughters to be Laveaus. He hadn't been able to adopt them, not legally but this was close enough. They had loved him so much that they had gotten their names changed, proud to carry the last name that should have always been theirs.

He had raised them right and proper.

Alex, for she preferred the shortened version now, was like a son. Her hair kept short and always running around in Alastor's old coveralls, grease and oil covering her nose and fingers as she fiddled in the garage with her engines. She was crazy for them, breaking old ones down and repairing them for the love of it instead of the steady income it became. She took over the manly duties of the house when Alastor moved to prime time fully, his days now shorter as he focused on writing his plays and recording his advertisements and sorting through fanmail. He always caught her with a hammer in a pocket, nails in her mouth or a cigarette behind her ear, cursing like a sailor when she caught a splinter.

But she was still his little girl, rolling her eyes and scoffing when he bandaged her up but always smiling when he placed a kiss on the wound. He watched her grow close with the girl down the street, a pretty young thing that looked at his Alex like she put the moon in the sky, always eager to show off her newest dress and blushing prettily when Alex stumbled her words and awkwardly told her, "You're so pretty—Uh, I mean the dress! The dress is so pretty!!"

"I approve you know," he had said one night while they shared an evening cigarette on the porch.

"Approve of what, dad?"

"Missy. She's a sweet girl. She makes you happy."

Alex choked on the smoke, doubling over as Alastor smoothly took the cigarette from her fingers to place it in his own mouth. He let her suffer, enjoying the sublime feeling of a father teasing the shit out of their kid. "D-dad!," she gasped, "I-I don't know what you—"

"Uh huh. Please. She looks at you like….like the way I used to look at your mother." They hardly ever spoke of the girls' mother around Alastor. He had made it very clear it was a touchy subject and all they needed to know was that despite it all, he had loved her and done her incredibly wrong. And now it was his duty to show her girls all the love he should have given Her, so mentioning Her in this way was some serious shit.

"Is that so?" Alex's voice trembled a bit as she glanced at the house down the street where the faintest shadow of her love interest could be seen moving in her bedroom, curtains drawn tight. "It's not right though…"

"Fuck what's right," Alastor sighed and passed off the cigarette. "Doing what was right got your mother…," fuck he hadn't wanted to mention Her murder. All his girls knew was that someone broke into the house and killed both their parents. They would never know it was Her husband that had killed their mother. He pulled in a shaky sigh as he continued, "If I had done "the wrong" thing, I would have married your mother and brought her up north with me but I didn't so here we are."

Alex remained quiet a moment before putting the cigarette out on the railing, much to Alastor's chagrin. "Yeah, but then you wouldn't have us."

"Hah, or maybe I would but your coloring would be a bit darker. Not that it matters, what's done is done."

"Hmmm," Alex hummed thoughtfully, "I suppose not. I got you as my daddy either way." They bumped shoulders, pressing against each other and enjoying the closeness in the fall wind. "Thank you daddy. For your blessing."

Alastor would never be able to see the two girls married, society was too backwards for that, but he was able to see them get a small apartment together. Why, he even was able to gift them a hefty sum towards a new house with a garage for Alex to work in before he died. He never got to see it but he remembered the women, for they were in their early 20s now, chat happily about the little townhome they had found that would be perfect for Alex's repair business.

And then there was Irene.

Oh, she was the bell of the ball, the apple of his eye, the crown jewel. She was graceful, she was sweet, she was the kindest creature he had ever met and to this day he was still amazed that he had raised the newest Saint. She was the complete opposite of her sister, fair and feminine and oh so pleasing to listen to as she sang her hymns and let her graceful fingers dance across the piano as if she was blessed by the angels themselves.

She had everyone falling head over heels for her. Men desperately calling the house to ask for her hand in marriage, women asking where she got her hair done, where she got her clothes and if she would be so kind as to teach them to sew so well.

But beneath all her demureness there was a fierceness to her, a ruthlessness in which she pursued her good morals. She was constantly searching for the poor and needy, feeding them from the picnic basket at her hip filled to the brim with food she cooked herself. She wrestled doctors into helping her, begging and pleading and somehow getting them to follow her into seedy back alleys to medicate and heal what hurts she had found. She called for donations and used the money to buy what clothes she could not mend herself, handing them out and refusing any form of payment beyond the promise to give unto others what goodwill she had shown them.

Irene was 22 when she opened her first shelter, welcoming women and children with open arms. She would provide food, shelter and medical care for all and help them get on their feet. She would bring in women to teach them to sew, to craft, or to cook; anything which could help them get jobs to feed their bellies. She worked with local churches for donations of cash and labor and local doctors to volunteer their weekends to help whoever needed it.

Alastor didn't live to see her open the second one. A smaller one for men where they could learn good and honest skills while they worked themselves out of the streets. She was determined to clean New Orleans, to make sure that there would never be another soul left out on the streets to die.

He was able to walk her down the aisle though. She had met a good man, a kind man as she worked the streets. Raphael was a man even Alastor was begrudged to like, though maybe not the smartest tool in the shed. Raphael had seen Irene walking boldly into seedy alleys with nothing to protect her but the little pistol hidden in her clothes and he couldn't stand by that. He had offered to protect her, following along at a distance so as not to interrupt her work but always close enough that he could intervene when she came across the very few who would think to take advantage of the pretty young thing that wandered too close.

Raphael was Irene's staunchest supporter, uplifting her and praising her and eagerly rallying people to her cause. He swayed those who were on the fence about supporting an enterprising young woman and he pressed stubborn old fools in ways only a good natured man could. It was no surprise when Raphael politely stood at the base of Alastor's porch, ready to get on his knees as he begged for permission to marry his daughter.

"I'll treat her right, Mr. Laveau. Let her pursue her dreams and just be there to catch her when she stumbles. She's a good woman doing the Lord's work and I want nothing more than to bask in her light."

Alastor had sighed, tilting his head back just enough to see Irene peeking between the curtains. He hadn't been ready to see his last girl leave the house but at 21 he had supposed it was time. He had not given his blessing more than one second before Irene came busting out the door in her night gown and threw herself into Raphael's arms.

True to his word, he caught her.

Irene had been the most beautiful bride. A doppelganger for her late mother, according to Claudette, and Alastor had to stop himself from crying as he walked her down the aisle. It was a large affair of course. Alastor and Claudette had spared no expense and Irene was so beloved herself that half the damn city donated to the church they held it at with all the extra money going towards the shelter they would open within the month.

"I don't believe it," Lucifer interrupted. "You actually raised two decent people."

"Is it really that hard to believe?"

Lucifer guffawed. "You are a literal serial killer! You eat people!!!"

"To be fair, the eating started after I landed in Hell."

"Okay but you were still killing people. When did you even have time to do that in between a full-time job and raising two kids?"

"Oh, I was living off of coffee and cocaine."

"I….yeah okay."

Alastor snorted and continued, "I won't go into the gory details but I still very much killed people when I got the chance." And oh did he get plenty of chances. He still spent time wandering the streets of New Orleans, visiting dance clubs and sneaking into speakeasies once Prohibition began. He was still young and full of life and needed a little break here and there from the kids.

His next kill had come three years later. A quick and bloodless thing. Just the snapping of the neck of a man who had first gotten on Alastor's radar when he used a few choice slurs towards the darker man but solidified his opportunity when he had slapped the face of the young woman he was trying to bed. Alastor only remembered telling the girl to run away and catching the drunk idiot's fist before slamming him into the wall and using the opportunity to grab his head.

"I kept my ears to the ground after that. Listening for stories about men hurting women, rumors about who forced who. I don't actually remember what a single one looked like. They all had His face." The face of the man who had taken Her. He would not let another tragedy like that happen again.

"Soooo, you killed people for what, 20 years?"

"17, actually. I died in 33' when I was 43."

Lucifer whistled and slumped back into his chair. "That's actually…really impressive. How many?"

Alastor shrugged, "Dozens I'm sure. Lots of vile men out there."

"And no one knew?"

"Oh, I'm sure my momma had an inkling but it's very easy to turn a blind eye when I raised such wonderful kids. How could I possibly spend my nights gutting trash and sacrificing souls when I was also teaching Irene to play piano or giving Alex piggy back rides around the yard? I was the paragon of a Perfect Father."

"Huh," there was a mild undercurrent of jealousy in Lucifers tone that Alastor very much enjoyed. That's right Luce, the cannibal serial killer was a better dad than you, eat shit!

"And then you died." Ugh, rude.

"Indeed! Shot between the eyes while burying a body." Feelings of shame bubbled up in Alastor's chest as he sighed and turned in his chair, letting his head dangle grossly over the back of the armrest to look at Lucifer as he kicked his feet like a schoolboy over the other armrest. "I've always wondered what happened after that. They must have found out that I was the one leaving the bodies out there. That I was the very Butcher I reported on. I only hoped that the virtues of my daughters was enough to save them from my sins."

Lucifer considered the demon before him, teeth pulling at his lip as Alastor let his eyes drift close, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally beginning to tire him out. He had just begun to drift away when Lucifer's voice broke through his thoughts.

"I can check for you."

Alastor opened one eye and gave him a quizzical look, "Check what?"

"If they ever made it to Hell."

Fully awake now, Alastor flipped again in his chair to rest on his belly. "You can do that?"

"Well of course? I am the devil and technically I own every soul here," he waved off-handedly towards the window where a sleepy pride city was softly glowing. "I can take a quick search. See if Irene or Alex ever made it. If not, then we know they did well and made it to heaven."

It was too good to be true! Of course Alastor had always kept an ear to the ground, listening for the names of the four women dearest to his heart. Hoping against everything that he would never hear them again. "What do you want in return?"

Lucifer shook his head, "Nothing. Consider this my true and heartfelt apology for the way I spoke to you tonight."

Fuck. Alastor licked his lips, resisting every urge of his demonic nature to haggle a deal out of the fucking Devil himself. "Okay. Alexandra Dominique Laveau and Irene Rose Laveau." He also rattled off their birth dates after a little prompting from Lucifer.

It took longer than Alastor would have liked but he supposed it would take a moment to sift through literally every single human who had ever passed through the Devil's domain. But eventually Lucifer opened his eyes, the flame between his horns dying down as he smiled and shook his head, "I can't find them. The only ones I found weren't the right race. They were only a quarter, right? Yeah, they were never here."

Alastor breathed a sigh of relief, letting his head drop against the armrest as he felt the first sting of unshed tears. "And Claudette Angèle Laveau, nèe Fontaine? Born…", Alastor knew deep down his mother wasn't here either. Or he hoped. She had birthed and raised a serial killer after all.

Lucifer closed his eyes again, fingers twitching as if searching through invisible files as the flames between his horns flared again. He soon opened his eyes and smiled, "No. She's not one of mine."

Oh thank fuck. Seems the sins of the children did not affect the parent.

But now…the last name stuck in his throat. The name of the woman who Alastor had grown up with. The name of the woman he had loved. The woman who should have been his wife. Who should have brought forth his daughters with his own seed. Who he should have seen at the end of that aisle dressed in white, her smile the last thing he saw every night the the first thing he saw when he woke up. The woman who's death began his descent into violence and sadism and cursed him to rot away in Hell.

He spoke it. For the first time in 113 years he finally spoke Her name. Her birthdate. Her death date.

Lucifer nodded gravely, hand over his heart as he took the trusted information and buried it away where it would never leave again. Alastor waited with baited breath, body tense and burning as his muscles screamed at him to relax, to please please please just settle into the chair instead of letting his limbs elongate and crack as his nervous energy did whatever it could to escape.

His antlers made it to five prongs before Lucifer's eyes opened again, a single tear falling down his cheek as he whispered his findings.

"She was never here."

Alastor was upon Lucifer immediately, clutching the smaller man around the neck as he forced back the sobs of relief. It was one thing to show his relief and appreciation for what Lucifer had done for him, it was another to cry in front of the man.

Lucifer patted his back awkwardly, mumbling "there there" like Alastor was some child to be coddled.

The audacity.

So Alastor shoved him back into the chair, smiling smugly as the littler man squawked at the sudden movement. "Fabulous. Now if you don't mind sir, it has been one hell of a night and I would like to catch some sleep. Off you go."

"Wait, hold on—whoa, c'mon dude don't just—hey! Hey hey hey!" Lucifer struggled to get his feet under him as Alastor grabbed him by the lapels, hauling the other man up and twirling him around to shove at his back, hooved feet slipping and sliding until he pressed unceremoniously against the bedroom door.

"Unholy hell," he finally pushed back and glare up at the sinister grin above his head. "You got some nerve manhandling—"

"Thank you, Lucifer."

Alastor's soft apology stopped Lucifer in his tracks, his ire at being pushed around deflating as he let himself be shoved out the now open door.

"If you ever mention anything that happened in this room, I'll find a way to kill you myself," Alastor finished before slamming the door in Lucifer's face.

Okay, maybe it was too early to be making friendship bracelets.

A sense of calm washed over Alastor, pure peace for the first time in decades as he sighed and chuckled happily, leaning against the door for just a moment as he relished the feeling. They had all made it to heaven despite the odds.

That was good. Wonderful, even. It was where they deserved to be, up there with the pearly gates and far away from him.

With another sigh, Alastor looked away from heaven, drawing the curtains and magicking himself into his pajamas. He didn't bother to get under the covers. He just let himself fall face first into the soft pillows, sagging into the comfy mattress as he let sleep take him.

He awoke at the crack of dawn just as he planned, still tired and more than a little hungover but determined to be a menace. He found solace in cooking, humming joyfully to himself as he cooked sausage and bacon, tap dancing around as he spread powdered sugar on the beignets and pancakes, and singing loudly as he finished scrambling the last of the eggs.

With the final 'ding!' of the coffee pot his cooking was finished. A veritable hangover feast complete with potatoes, toast and an ungodly amount of spreads.

He grinned wickedly as the sounds of trumpets blasted through every radio in the hotel, the screams of fear and anger music to his ears. He laughed as his voice followed the trumpets, calling everyone down to eat and threatening to leave all the dishes for whoever made it down last.

But the cat came back.

The first night Evelyn had thought she was crazy; that the glimpse of a tail she caught in the corner of her eye was just her worried mind playing tricks on her. She was just worried that Gregory hadn't come home from wherever he was. She just needed some of that medicine from the doctor and away, away, away her worries would go until she woke up to her dear husband shouting obscenities at her for—

And then she saw it. A little black cat at the end of the hallway, its eyes glowing in the dark for just a moment before it darted into her bedroom.

Surely it wasn't the same cat that she had…well, she had meant to hide it under her bed but she couldn't really remember what happened that night. It was all a blur. As most of her nights. But still, she followed slowly, voice calling out, "Here kitty kitty kitty."

She caught the flicker of a shadow darting underneath the bed, dread filling her stomach as she imagined she had only maimed the creature, forcing it to lay there limp and helpless, forcing it to live a crippled life all because she couldn't do a damn thing right! She needed to put it out of its misery. Yes, she could do that at least.

But when she knelt down on her knees to check under the bed it was not a scared and hurt cat that she found. No, it was alive and well and launching at her face with a hiss. Sharp little claws scratching and scratching before she threw it off, the solid thump of the cat hitting the wall startling her to stillness as she looked at the broken body.

And then it moved. Bones snapping into place, bones she was fairly certain would not have broken in the two feet between her and the wall. Its eyes glowed red and its little maw opened in a frightening yawn filled with rows and rows of teeth cats did not have.

And then it was normal again. Sitting prim and proper and its tail flicking lazily once, twice, and then it left. Out the bedroom window Evelyn had been told over and over again to stop leaving open because there was a murderer on the loose but if that was how she went then who was she to stop God's plan?

The cat came back the next night, trilling happily as it sat upon the windowsill. Evelyn had dropped her soup ladle, cursing loudly as hot soup splashed on her foot and forced her to look away before her eyes returned to the empty window.

And found the cat curled up and snug in Gregory's armchair.

Gregory still wasn't home. Maybe it was time she called the police stations, make sure he wasn't arrested for being drunk and disorderly again.

"Hello little one," she called softly as she had slowly shuffled towards the cat who had now turned with its back towards her. "Are you hungry? I have some food for you." Her fingers shook as she reached out, the shadows trembling with her, their claws reaching out to grasp at her even as she felt the barest touch of the cat's soft fur.

Dread filled her gut and her head pounded, vision blurring as she forced herself to remember to breathe. It was just a cat! A little black cat. An unlucky thing curled up on her missing husband's chair. She could get rid of it. She had to get rid of it! It didn't belong here! That was her Gregory's chair! He would be so angry if she let a damn animal get their filth on his chair! His good chair that he had sold Evelyn's jewelry for!

She shook when the cat looked over its shoulder at her.

Red eyes.

As red as a devil.

She gasped and began to recite her prayers, hands pulled back to clutch at the cross around her neck as that little cat slowly got up and began to change. Its limbs elongating with the horrible cracking sound of bones breaking and reforming and breaking again as they stretched beyond their limits, skin growing taught and balding where the joints threatened to break through, large bat-like wings bursting forth from the darkness and teeth, oh such horrible teeth burst from that open and dripping jaw.

Evelyn had gone to church on Wednesday. To pray for herself. To pray for Gregory who was still missing.

She prayed and prayed and prayed for forgiveness. She said her Hail Mary's and gave her confession. And then she prayed some more and lit some candles and dreaded the moment Father Angelou would ask her to go home. To rest.

But she knew there would be no rest for her.

The cat was waiting for her on the doorstep, stretching and making that cute little noise of greeting as it practically danced around Evelyn's feet. She wanted to kick it. So she did. "Serves you right," she muttered as the cat hissed and ran off into the alley.

And there it was again at her apartment door, red eyes daring her to kick it again. So she ran at it, screaming like a mad woman as she grabbed the thing and hurled it over the railing. She did not think about how the cat did not try to dodge her. She did not think about how the light in that dingy hallway made it look as if the cat was smiling at her when she threw it.

She had quickly entered her home then, forehead pressed against the door as she struggled to lock it with shaking hands.

A single joyful meow stopped her heart.

The world seemed to spin as Evelyn slowly turned her head, mind fuzzy as she struggled to breathe, her lungs refusing to pull in air as she gasped and fell to the ground.

She awoke to the feeling of a rough tongue licking her face. Of little teeth nibbling at her cheeks.

Of them biting into her flesh.

But when she flung herself up and off the floor there was nothing there. No cat on the chair or the windowsill or the counter. No mocking meow or playful tail darting around the corners.

But there were bite marks along her arms.

Six of them.

And then it truly became Hell.

The shadows of her home seemed to reach for her, pulling at her hair and dress and whispering evil as she tried to pray against them. Everywhere she looked she caught a glimpse of that damn cat: a tail, an ear, the glow of its eyes. The whispers turned to mocking meows, hisses revealing her darkest secrets and moans that sounded vaguely like her Gregory…who was still missing.

She couldn't do this. She needed the Father!

But the door would not open. It would not give under her fist. The shadows wouldn't let it, grabbing at her wrists and stopping her from making full contact. She tried to run, mind addled and desperate and more than willing to jump out the window but the shadows beat her to it, every single window in that shitty apartment snapping shut with a finality that made Evelyn's heart fit to burst.

They would not budge.

And there was the cat. Haughty as it sat upon her kitchen counter.

Evelyn was scared of this cat.

And as her vision watered and darkened, her lungs finally giving up and depriving her of oxygen, she wondered if that creature was the Devil himself.

She did not remember Thursday night. She remembers seeing the cat in her bedroom mirror and she quickly dove under her bed sheets. Sobbing. Sobbing. Sobbing. Begging for God to help her. Begging the cat's forgiveness.

And then she screamed as horrible screeching filled her ears, as claws ran down her back and threatened to pull back her sheet. Hands, so many hands pulling and poking and gripping and she wanted this to end, end, end!

Salvation came in the form of an elderly neighbor knocking gently at the front door. Evelyn did not answer at first, not trusting the sudden silence and loneliness she felt trapped under those covers. But they were insistent and when the voice at the door threatened to call the cops, she had relented and scrambled to the door as if any hesitation would cause the cat to attack her again.

Sorry for the disturbance, bad nightmares, yes yes it is so stressful with Gregory missing, let me take some pills and you won't hear me again, so sorry.

Evelyn took more sleeping pills than she should, not caring if she woke up or not.

Now she was here, trembling and cowering as the thing that was not a cat took on its true form. That devilish horse with hair as black as night and eyes like burning hellfire, the stench of blood wafting from its mouth as it pulled back its lips in a grotesque smile, teeth dripping with saliva as it loomed above her.

And as those clawed wings reached towards her, Evelyn McDowell knew she was going to die.

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Happy, happy, happy!

Oh yes, this cat was very happy, its head and tail held high as it trotted down the sidewalk practically floating. It hadn't filled its belly this way in a looong time. So used to chasing down her prey or forced to take a quick bite lest she be discovered hunched over a body in some dark ally, she had forgotten how much fun it was to properly haunt her meal.

She needed to make it a habit. Plenty of humans to frighten with cheap tricks in this city of the dead. She barely even needed to try: a flicker here, a hiss there, a nap in an armchair. Why, she didn't even get around to knocking things off the walls or throwing objects from the shadows! Had she not been surprisingly hungry (and maybe just a tiny bit greedy) she could have even drawn out the haunting of Evelyn long enough to whisper menacingly from the shadows or crashed herself as a bird into the windows over and over again.

Ah, so many options, so many humans.

But alas, there was another human for her meet and if she didn't pick up the pace she would be late!

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Alastor stepped out of his office promptly at midnight, smile wide and eyes alight with mischief as he bid his coworkers 'adieu' with a careless wave.

He had a date!

It was about time he took his Mare on a proper one. They had gone about this courtship all wrong! Murder, then sex and now dancing? It should wholly be the other way around! What kind of Southern Gentleman was he that he would deflower his darling creature before showing her the delights of the city?

The answer was a damn awful one.

But she was no Southern Belle either so he forgave himself rather quickly. It's not like she knew the proper way to do this. She was just as lost as he was but together they would figure this thing out (with a few more dead bodies along the way).

His lady of the night stepped out of the shadows silently as if she was Mother Nyx herself, shadows streaming away from her figure to reveal a red sequined dress recently tailored by his mother. She was dazzling as she smiled at him, lips painted a matching shade of red reminiscent of the very blood she had on them earlier this morning.

His shoulder ached at the memory.

"There you are darling," he bowed his head and held out his arm without missing a beat. "Did you have fun while you were out?"

The Mare nodded vigorously, hands forming signs as she mouthed the saucy details of her evening. Alastor still hadn't had a chance to fully study the sign language book he had gotten from the library Monday morning nor was he suddenly better at reading lips in the few days they had been home but he caught the gist that she had a great time toying with her food.

"Good girl," he pressed the back of her hand to his lips as he continued to steer them towards the heart of downtown. "Can't have you hungry where I'm taking you."

Curious eyes peered up at him, questioning their destination without having to use hands or lips. Usually they spent their evenings wandering around the quieter parts of town, along the river or strolling dimly lit cemeteries. Often they lingered on the outside of the crowds, heads bobbing to distant music as if Alastor was worried she would pick and eat a victim right then and there.

"You'll be good for me, won't you?" She nodded and followed his lead, head swiveling as he turned a corner and a bustling New Orleans street was laid before them. "It's high time I took you dancing, my dear!"

The Mare gasped audibly and tightened her grip on his arm as she hopped twice in place, her smile childish as she pointed towards a quartet jamming out as the trumpet player played a vigorous solo. Music, laughter, food! All of it would be theirs but tonight Alastor had a specific destination in mind.

"Oh yes, they're quiet talented those four! I've played with them a few times in the clubs when they needed a pianist." They didn't often come inside, instead choosing to serenade the streets and draw customers into their friend's clubs but one of the men had taken a liking to Mimzy and suddenly they were seen in Al's haunts. A shame. Alastor almost felt bad watching Mimzy string Alfred along but oh well, not his problem.

They continued down the street, The Mare's head swiveling round and round as she took in the sights. The women in their shiny dresses and bouncing feathers. Smartly dressed men tipping their hats with a jaunty, "Evening!" as they passed. Food vendors trying their hardest to tempt his little Mare into buying their wares unaware that she was more likely to drag them down the alley and make a meal of them instead. Everywhere the lights reflected off her eyes, wide and amused as she watched couples laugh and tease each other, pupils tight and slitted as she watched each one.

But she never tightened her grip. Never stilled and licked her lips in want as each crossed their path. She remained slack on his arm, content to follow the pull of him as she took in the sights around them.

It was everything he wanted. Here he was, the most popular radio host in New Orleans with his gorgeous girl on his arm, his murderous little beastie who not only knew one of his deepest, darkest secrets but reveled in it with him.

Name a more perfect pair and he'd bury you six feet under for daring to utter that lie.

"Here we are!" He stopped outside a dimly lit shop, dusty lamps and moth-eaten curtains serving as the backdrop to the words "Molly's Antiques" etched in a fancy script on the window. The Mare tilted her head the other way, mouth pulling down into a frown as she gestured over her shoulder to the excitement behind her.

"I know, I know I doesn't look like much but trust me," he purred as he pulled them through the open door, "You're about to meet one of my dearest friends."

Above them a bell jingled as they entered, the heavy door slamming shut and fully blocking out the boisterous noise outside. Alastor didn't miss a beat, passing by the wrinkled old woman at the counter and ignoring the way she fiddled with something underneath as he chimed, "Excellent weather, Molly!"

"I hate the rain," she replied and squinted her eyes over the pair.

"Ah, but isn't it perfect for dancing?" Alastor rounded the corner of her counter as she placed the shotgun back onto its shelf, nodding her head towards the heavy door behind her labeled 'STAFF ONLY'. He turned to his guest, nuzzling along her cheek to place a soft kiss against her ear as he mumbled, "Ready?"

They were not stopped as they passed through the door, "Molly" immediately returning to her needlework as if there was no one there. Beyond the door was a simple passage way, bald brick that led to another door and this to a steep set of stairs where distantly, if the Mare tilted her head just right, she could hear music. Alastor led them down giddily, resisting the urge to take the steps two at a time and stopping once he reached the bottom.

He placed his hand on the handle for dramatic effect, turning the knob but not opening the door as he leaned into the Mare's space. "Welcome my dear," he opened the door with a flourish, "to Mimzy's!"

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Oh. Oh this was amazing! The dim lights, the music, the writhing bodies and the stench of sweat, smoke and alcohol in the surprisingly large room.

A speakeasy! Oh, she had heard Alastor mention he had a friend who ran one and she often caught talk of them in hushed whispers as she haunted around town but she had no idea she would ever find one hidden under an unassuming antique shop. Oh, this was fun!

"Do you like it?" Alastor, vulnerable and soft as he whispered into her ear from behind, one arm looping around her waist as he kicked the door shut behind them. Liked it? She loved it and she demonstrated this by twisting in Alastor's arms to plant a kiss firmly against his lips, pulling him down in surprise and falling back dangerously before he righted them again.

"I take that as a yes," he cooed against her lips before kissing them chastely. She giggled as he spun her around, arm looped in hers again as he led her through the room past comfy lounge chairs and tables where people played cards as they drank. Beyond that where people were twirling and swinging their partners around to the band playing joyously on stage, the songstress crooning her song and tempting her would-be watchers to join in the revelry before her. The Mare's eyes peeked into every alcove along the wall, curtains partially drawn to give their occupants the illusion of privacy as they threw back their moonshine and slipped hands under clothes.

Everywhere she felt giddiness, happy inebriation, lust and joy from dancers and canoodlers alike and underneath it all, the thrilling rush of doing something you were not supposed to do. The threat that at any moment this place could be shut down and raided, your luck run out as the cops grabbed you to throw in jail even as your friends manage to escape out the well hidden exits.

This was a side of humans she had only watched from the outside, safe and hidden in shadows. Never was she smack dab in the middle of it.

This was thrilling!

Alastor tugged at her arm again, drawing her attention as they approached the bar. He waved at the petite blonde woman behind it, her face lighting up with joy as she immediately grabbed a bottle of alcohol from under the counter and placed it before them as they took their spots.

"Hey there tall, dark and handsome," her voice had a strong accent to it The Mare hadn't heard since she had been up north. "It's been a long time! Where have you been!"

"Mimzy!" Alastor greeted her warmly, his familiarity glaringly obvious as he gladly accepted the two glasses she handed him.

"Whoa! Watch the name hot stuff," Mimzy immediately chastised him and took a quick glance around to make sure no one was listening in. "You know better then to use names here. What're you thinkin'?" Sharp. Deadly. They had had this conversation before.

"Apologies, apologies," Alastor said while not sounding sorry at all. "I was just so excited to bring my new friend around and forgot my manners." He brought The Mare forward making jazz hands behind her back to show her off. "This is—"

"Ah, ah!" Mimzy cut him off, "No names!"

Satisfaction oozed from Alastor and The Mare tilted her head at it. She didn't have a name. She supposed that would have been hard to get around in proper conversation but in a speakeasy where no one uses them…? That meant Alastor was free to show her off without having to worry about it. She smiled as politely as she could and waved her hand, friendly friendly!

Mimzy glared one more second at Alastor before she turned her attention to the woman before her. She took another second to take her all in before her eyes lit up and she smacked her hands against her cheeks. "Oh my! Ala—You brought a girl! And what a cutie!"

Mimzy immediately came around the counter, heels click-clicking with every hurried step as she waved her hands around her face as if fanning herself. "Oh gosh, aren't you something! C'mere girl and give ya new pal a hug!" The Mare ignored Alastor's sharp intake of breath, his panic spiking momentarily as Mimzy's arms wrapped around his Mare and squeezed the life out of her before she pulled back with her hands still on the Mare's shoulders.

"I've known this man for ten years and never has he brought a girl around. I was beginning to think he was shootin' for the other team!" Alastor stiffened and Mimzy glanced coyly up at him, "Not that that matters to me. Just meant I had to keep a special eye out for ya but now look at you! All grown up and bringing a girl, oooo I could just eat her up!" The Mare decided she liked this woman, loud and boisterous and coming in like a train as she poked at Alastor's stomach.

"You treat her right mista or no more whiskey for you, got it?!"

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything less." Alastor bowed and wrapped an arm around the Mare's waist again, cementing the fact that this was an official date. Mimzy's eyes followed the movement and just a little jealousy wafted in the air before she giggled and waved them off with a, "Oh, aren't ya cute" before she returned to her spot behind the bar.

"What'll you have sweetness? I got a few before it's my turn on stage and it's on the house."

The Mare felt her eyes widen as she looked at the alcohol on display. She had no clue what she would like. She had only tried a few drinks and they all tasted like—

"You still have that apple pie moonshine?" Her savior, leaning against the bar counter like he owned it.

"I shoulda never told you about that," Mimzy deflated before she rummaged around in a few cabinets before returning with an unlabeled bottled filled with thick orange alcohol, cinnamon floating visibly as she gave it a good shake. "You owe me two extra dollars since its the last one," she held out her hand and wiggled her fingers impatiently.

"I thought you said it was on the house," Alastor grumbled as he refused to fish his wallet out.

The glared at each other for a few seconds, each refusing to bow to the other in their stubbornness. Eventually Alastor sighed and pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the piano on stage, "I'll play a song or two with you and we call it even?"

Mimzy lit up again and slammed her palms on the counter. "You got it Slim! See ya up there in five!"

The Mare and Alastor waved goodbye as she suddenly dashed away, giggling to herself as she slipped through a hidden door. "Well, that went perfectly! Mimzy is a dear friend. Tells me who's been giving her or her girls a hard time and oops! Suddenly they disappear, it's so strange!" He chuckled darkly to himself and snatched their drinks off the counter.

"Come dear, let's find a suitable place to sit you down while I work for your drink."

The Mare followed obediently, dutifully carrying the small jar of moonshine Alastor had haggled for her secure against her chest. He led her to an empty table smack dab in the middle of the lounge, his smile sharp as he slowly glanced at the people around them, daring anyone to challenge his choice before she sat down stiffly at the edge of the loveseat.

"Nice spot, yes?" He settled down next to her and began to pour their drinks, humming happily to himself as he vaguely pointed at the piano on stage. "You know I helped Mimzy get that? Heh, the owner had a nasty habit of harassing one of the underage girls who sang here a few years ago. It only took two fingers before he 'donated' it to her. Another for him to pay for the move. And his life for the silence."

'Naughty boy', the Mare mouthed as she shook her head in amusement.

"You would know, my dear," he replied easily. "Now take a sip of this and tell me what you think."

The Mare eyeballed her glass of liquor and made a small noise of distress that couldn't be heard above the final song on stage. She had tried Alastor's whisky and Claudette's gin and found them both terrible no matter how they dressed it. Her hopes were low as she sniffed at her glass, Alastor tutting in annoyance at the less-than-human action before she took a tentative sip.

Flavor burst across her tongue: cinnamon, clove, syrupy apple and the sting of moonshine that stung at the back of her throat. It tasted nothing like blood.

And yet she took another sip. Longer this time, relishing in the thickness of it on her tongue and the refreshing sweetness that left her licking her lips as she cast a longing glance at the nearly full bottle near Alastor's elbow.

He smiled knowingly at her and rose his own glass to hers, clinking them softly as he relaxed back into his seat before taking his own drink. She followed his example, finally relaxing into the cushions and curling into his side, knees pulled up and partially in his skinny lap as his arm curled snugly against her back. "Finally found something you like? I knew we'd get there eventually."

She smiled back at him and took another drink, gulping twice before Alastor put a hand on her glass to gently pull it back down. "Easy on the alcohol dearest. We don't know how it affects you." Ah, yes. It would be difficult to wrangle a drunk Mare even for Alastor's spirits and she was quite certain Claudette would be less than thrilled to finish that job.

If she could even get drunk.

Or maybe she could get super drunk?

Where horses sensitive to alcohol?

A warm tingling started in her chest, spreading slowly down her limbs and awakening an ache in her loins as Alastor shifted with a deep grunt, his knees spreading out and pulling his slacks tight enough to give her a glimpse of—

She quickly turned her head away, cheeks burning as the alcohol worked quickly through her veins. Alastor quirked his head toward her, elegant eyebrow arched as he reached up with the hand around her shoulders to turn her head back towards him. "Something the matter?"

Yes! Something was the matter! This moonshine made her body warm and tingly and there was an ache that made her want to crawl into his lap and grind against him until he made those sweet noises she loved swallowing every morning, high pitched and whiny as he—

"Oh! Feeling it already, hmm?" Alastor gave her a shit-eating grin as he leaned into her space, nose brushing against hers as he looked at her through half-lidded eyes, "You're very cute when your cheeks are flushed." And flushed they would stay if he kept speaking in that low grumble! Ridiculous man!

She ignored his blatant teasing, sipping slowly on her drink as he laughed and threw his head back. She would not think about the exposed arch of his neck or how his Adam's apple bobbed when he threw back his whiskey. She would be a good girl and sit here with him until it was his turn to play on stage.

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Alastor rose from the piano gracefully, leaving no evidence of the multiple glasses of whiskey he had thrown back while playing Mimzy's 20-minute set. He bowed deeply, eyes lingering on his little Mare before he took Mimzy's hand and twirled her around, encouraging the audience to clap and yell for the little starlet and her amazing talent.

Of course, some of the applause was for him as well, and rightfully so! If radio hadn't worked out there was no doubt he'd be working the various clubs as a musician for hire. Piano, trumpet, sax, you name it he was passable at it. At least to drunk ears.

He twirled Mimzy the other way, showing her off to the other side of the room before looping his arm around hers to lead her back to his Mare. The tipsy thing was clapping fervently for them, half her bottle gone and a permanent flush stuck to her cheeks as she wobbled in her seat.

Adorable.

"Enjoy the show dar—"

"Hey toots!" Mimzy hip-checked Alastor out of the way and made grabby hands towards the Mare. "Noticed you didn't dance the whole time we were singing." She pulled the Mare out of her seat and began to drag her out to the floor as the next set of musicians began to play.

"She doesn't know how to dance," Alastor provided as he followed them. Gods preserve him if his Mare broke her ankle as she followed Mimzy's pull.

"Well lucky for you you got the best damn dancer this side of the river!" Mimzy laughed as she spun them around heedless of the Mare's inebriation but she took it like a champ, face lit up with a smile as she laughed quietly in Mimzy's arms.

This was going better than Alastor had dared hope! He had planned on a night of awkward dancing, slowing his limbs down as he showed his Mare the basic elements of swing and the Lindy Hop, maybe even some slow waltzing as the alcohol began to buzz along their systems. Heck, he even planned on taking Mimzy around for a few rounds just to get the extra energy out of his system and show off how he could really move with the right partner.

But this? This was good too. Mimzy was delighted with her new student, whooping and making loud exclamations each time the Mare landed a new move. The Mare herself wasn't too bad, face pulled tight in concentration as she gave Mimzy her full attention and did her best to copy everything she was shown. Mimzy claimed she was a natural but Alastor felt that somewhere down the line his Mare had acquired the knowledge of dance with one of her meals. Acquired but never used judging by the jerky movements and the way her mouth pulled down whenever a leg didn't land the way she wanted it to.

"Atta girl! Get Al to bring ya down here a few more times and he'll be fightin' the boys off with a bat to keep them off you!" Mimzy twirled the Mare around one more time before practically flinging her into Alastor's waiting arms.

"Take her for a spin! I need a drink after all this charity work!"

Alastor rolled his eyes as Mimzy made herself comfortable at their table, taking greedy mouthfuls of the Mare's moonshine and pouring herself a glass of his whisky. Oh well, she really did deserve it. His Mare wouldn't be winning a dance competition tonight but she knew the basics well enough to follow his lead.

"Having fun?," he asked as he led them in a brisk waltz around the edge of the dance floor. The Mare nodded and forewent their dancing, instead wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his chest as they continued moving around. "Good girl. Ready to put Mimzy's teaching skills to the test?" The Mare pouted, lower lip protruding as she slumped harder against him.

He couldn't resist the laugh that bubbled out of his chest, "Haha! Feeling sleepy already hmm? No worries dear, let me take you for a spin and I'll let you rest. The point of bringing you here was to dance and dammit, I want to dance with my girl."

He only got to relish in her bright blush for a moment before he created space between them, pulling her into the basic swing step she learned less than an hour ago. She followed him easily, only tripping up on his feet twice before she adjusted to her much taller dance partner. Behind them Mimzy egged them on and with each turn he felt his Mare relax further and further into his lead as she grew more confident.

But Alastor was one to quickly grow bored and they were only halfway through their third song when he pulled her close to whisper, "Let's take this up a notch" before he swung her out, one arm up in the air before he pulled her back in. It was all a blur from there. He couldn't do anything to crazy, no tossing her around or swinging her between his legs quite yet but from the pure unadulterated joy in her laughter he knew that day was closer than he thought.

She was light in his arms, clumsy but full of potential as she threw in her own flair: the toss of her hair, the kicking out of a foot. And she trusted him wholeheartedly, letting him dip her dangerously low and closing her eyes for entire sequences as she enjoyed her buzz and the thrum thrum thrum of the drum beat. In the dim light of the speakeasy he could almost convince himself she was human, that he was just a normal man with normal needs and wants enjoying a night on the town.

But then they would pass through a beam of light and he'd catch the red in her eyes and he'd remember how they looked together, covered in blood and delightfully insane as they shared a final heart beat.

Who needed normal when he had her?

Alas his Mare was tiring, feet stumbling through their final dance and her eyes dropping down to glare at her feet, not understanding why they were betraying her. "Break time for you," he spun them around and around to their table, depositing her opposite of a very drunk Mimzy who slid the last of the moonshine over.

"You sit here a bit and let us show you how to really swing!" He extended his hand out to Mimzy who jumped up with both fists in the air with a very unladylike, "Fuck yeah!", before she practically drug Alastor out to the dance floor herself.

This was what he needed! A partner just as energetic as him, just as crazy and just as flamboyant as they raced around the dance floor, a whirlwind of laughter and limbs as everyone moved to give them space. It was wildly known and accepted that there could be casualties when the two of them hit the dance floor. And anyone who didn't get out of their way or took it too personally when they got hit well…sometimes they disappeared.

A shame.

But tonight was a good night. A great night! Mimzy was at the top of her game as always, there was a pleasant buzz running through Alastor's body and his Mare was enthralled with them: eyes wide and mouth open in awe as she rested her head on her palms with her elbows on the table. He would have liked to see a little jealousy in her eyes but maybe he should be grateful she didn't feel the urge to see Mimzy as a threat. It really would be a shame to lose such a wonderful dance partner.

"So what's ya girl's name?"

Alastor dipped Mimzy and spun her around with one hand while wagging his other finger at her. "Ah, ah, ah~! No names, remember?"

"Oh phooey!" She twirled back into him and batted his chest. "Always a stickler only when it benefits you, you brat." Well, Alastor couldn't deny that. "Seriously, what's her name? How'd ya meet? You bring a girl here for the first time ever and don't even give your dearest friend the saucy details."

Alastor distracted her with another dip and pointedly ignored her question.

"C'mon Slim," she pouted, "Don't make me have to show up to your house and get the answers from your momma."

"Don't threaten me," he sniffed.

"Then don't be such a stiff! Give me details man, details!" It was a testament to Alastor's balance that he could handle her shaking him back and forth without missing a single step as they hurtled towards the end of their last song.

"Another time. Soon?"

Mimzy groaned and flipped their positions, surprising Alastor as she dipped him low enough to have the back of his head brushing the floor. "Fine! Next weekend I'm playing at Lou's. Bring ya girl and I wanna know each and every itsy bitsy tiny detail about what makes her so special." She let him up and released him to fluff out her hair.

"It's a date," Alastor brushed his own hair back and sighed happily. "Thank you dear, for treating us tonight."

"Yeah yeah," Mimzy waved him off but she was obviously pleased. "Let me say goodbye to your girl before you head out. Gotta let her know that if you don't work out, she's got a friend here and all."

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The air was still warm and humid when they exited the speakeasy through the hidden door in the alley of Molly's Antiques, still delightfully tipsy. Alastor had to shush his Mare when she stumbled into the wall, giggling as she caught herself and unable to stop the snort that escaped her when he wrapped his hand around her jaw.

And then that hand moved to rest against the base of her throat.

Then he pulled her in, alcohol drenched lips finding each other instinctively in that filthy dark alley.

A perfect ending to a perfect night.

He couldn't help the manic giggle that escaped his chest as he powered down his station. That made his 50th fellow Overlord to join his broadcast! Just a few more and even the most stubborn would have no choice but to cower before him and admit that he was the strongest in Hell.

"Excellent show, Alastor!"

Alastor nearly startled as Vox approached him. He was so focused on a job well done he had forgotten that he had given in to the promising young Overlord's request to watch as he broadcast.

"Of course," Alastor replied breezily.

Vox scoffed and shuffled forward, an act of supplication and often the pose he chose before he rained flattery upon his mentor. "I mean it, Al! Racher was your strongest Overlord yet and you handled him like he was a newly manifested Sinner!"

Alastor hummed as he poured two glasses of whisky; an indication to keep going. To keep stroking the ego of a man who truly didn't need it.

"I can't wait to get to your level. I've got the ideas, sure but I'd be much farther behind without your help." Oh that was very true. Vox had caught Alastor's attention only a few years after the young man's death. His ability to hypnotize and influence small crowds of lower sinners through raucous speech had given Alastor a moment of pause.

There was a hunger to the young man with the TV head that reminded him of himself.

And it certainly helped that they were two sides of the same entertainment coin. Radio and television. A match made in Hell.

"Indeed. And don't you forget it, my friend." And Vox really had become his friend, hadn't he? Or at least as close as Alastor liked to keep. Vox needed to be kept at arms length. This was Hell after all and he couldn't do anything that would risk his immortal life.

Plus, there was only one person he needed by his side.

The persistent pull in his chest snapped, a rubber band against the inside of his sternum. Vox's rambling compliments faded away as Alastor's head snapped towards Earth hanging high in Hell's sky.

Finally!

She'd been gone for damn near six years this time. They were both fairly immortal now but that still wasn't an excuse for her time blindness! He was going to make her keep a damn calendar on hand if she was going to be away for years.

"Vox!"

Vox immediately stilled and shut his mouth with an audible blat of static, his eyes wide as he recognized the tone that would send him away.

"It's time for you to go home," Alastor shoved one of the glasses of whiskey into his hand and turned him around, both hands on Vox's shoulders as he steered him towards the door.

"I—what? A-alastor? Did I do something wrong—?"

"Not at all! But my wife is coming home and I need you gone. What's about to happen is for us alone." Kinky sex was about to happen that was neither safe nor sane but wholly consensual. The type of wild shit that one has after years of separation and unholy powers at one's disposal.

Things that Vox had no business hearing.

"Wi-fe???", Vox's voice cracked in disbelief as Alastor shoved him through the door. He whipped around, his face so blatantly heartbroken it almost made Alastor want to continue breaking him apart. "You have a wife? But you never—"

"My personal life is none of your business, Vincent." Alastor put extra emphasis on Vox's human name, really digging it in that he was just as lowly as the rest of them to someone like him. That they weren't really friends. Vox was just someone who kept Alastor entertained while his wife was gone.

"W-well yeah but you could have at least mentioned—what the FUCK is that?"

Alastor's smile deepened as the sound of a window opening graced his cervine ears. He turned his head just enough to catch sight of the creature that was currently crawling through the window.

Horse-like in nature with red eyes that shone like hellfire under a mane of thick, black hair. Legs that ended in the hooked claws of some bird of prey, each talon giving a little 'tick, tick' as they scraped along the floor of the radio station. Black, bat-like wings held tight to a lean and muscular body, well-fed and ready to remain in Hell until hunger demanded she returned up top.

Alastor turned to fully face the creature that had entered his domain.

"Hello, love. You are late."

He ignored Vox's little exasperated, "What the fuck?", and opened his arms wide.

Vox even screamed as The Mare lunged towards them, powerful back legs letting her cross the room in a single leap, front claws outstretched and mouth open to reveal sharp teeth.

But what landed in Alastor's arms was not some weird fucked up horse.

No. What Alastor caught, was a woman. Vox watched in shock as the pair promptly locked lips, Alastor's tentacles rising up to cover the naked woman's modesty as his hands, which hardly ever touched anyone, clenched the woman desperately. Possessively.

The woman pulled away first, the hand in Alastor's hair idly twirling the scarlet strands. "I'm here now," she said in a voice that would absolutely match the damn Radio Demon. Deep. Sonorous. Elegant. She'd give Lilith a run for her money if she was capable of singing.

"Indeed you are," Alastor replied softly, his voice low and gravely as he dropped the fake high pitch he used for his performances.

"Uhh…", Vox held up a finger and then pointed towards the door. "I'm just gonna…I'm gonna…go?"

Alastor responded by slamming the door in his face, close enough that had Vox possessed a normal head he was sure his nose would have been smashed.

On the other side The Mare tilted her head quizzically, mouth twisted as she pointed with her lips. "Who was that?"

Alastor spun her around, waltzing towards his desk and backing her against it before deigning to speak. "No one you need to worry about Little Mare. A passing fancy."

His lips fell to hers again, kissing her softly before moving his way along her jaw and neck, sharp teeth drawing just the barest hint of blood before moving on. Every gasp and moan he drew from his foul other half was bliss, the voice given to her in Hell fueling the desire that stirred only for her.

His love. His wife. His Mare.

Together again.

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A/N: Hi guys :)

We made it! Can you believe it? I am NEVER writing a multichapter fic without an outline again ohmagawd. If I left plot holes or contradicted myself, no I didn't. The amount of times I wrote myself into a corner because I made a random decision in an earlier chapter is offensive. But you know what? It was worth it. For those who have ever commented on this fic, for those who have it bookmarked and liked, and for those lovely, amazing people who continued reading to the end.

Thank you all so much for coming on this silly little journey with me that started out as daydreaming on my work commute!

A pity he met his end on the open road. A vacation gone wrong when his car hit a large black elk and went tumbling into the ditch. The Mare had spent a grand time chasing the man's pretty young companion once she had righted herself and pulled her broken bones back together, her bugle startling the unfortunate pair as each joint snapped back into place and blood red drool oozed from her sharped jaws as she lumbered towards them.

They had turned to run panic-stricken only to find Alastor barring their way, his knife catching the orange light of the sunset as he flipped it casually. The prey had been so funny then, begging this strange man to help them. A man they would at any other time consider far beneath them. Alastor had told them so, mirth in his voice as The Mare, no longer an elk but in her favorite beautiful form continued her slow stalk forward.

Alastor was recognized then, the investor gaining some courage as he tried to blackmail instead. Threatening Alastor's job. His family. His life. She had growled, low and deep and the pair nearly pissed themselves at the sound but the man stood his ground foolishly.

The poor woman. She was only this week's current flavor. A pretty young thing sleeping with a man she hoped would be able to set her up with the right connections. The Mare almost felt pity.

But the woman's feelings towards Her Alastor doomed her. The world did not need women like that.

Alastor had laughed, his voice echoing in the supernatural silence of the woods. "The only ones in danger here, my good man, are you two!"

She left Alastor to his own devices, his knife flashing as he dashed forward to cut at his chosen prey. The Mare had chosen to nip at her own prey's heels, forcing the woman into the woods, herding her deeper and deeper until mud took her fancy shoes and she lost her beautiful fur shawl when she got caught on low hanging branches.

Her prey was forced into deep water, choosing to risk running into alligators and hoping that the strange creature behind her couldn't cross moving water. She knew her stories, the murmurs of things that go bump in the night. But she did not know this creature.

The Mare landed on her from above, claws breaking into the soft skin on her shoulders as she shoved the woman down into the water and held her there. And then she let her up, mouth sputtering and gasping for air for only a moment before she was forced down again.

And again.

And again.

And finally she was not let up at all.

Her body was torn apart. Fine pieces for the gators and other beasties nearby, waiting for the strange creature among them to be done. She collected what bits of clothing she could, following Alastor's instructions that they should bury what they could far away, covering their tracks and making it that much harder for anyone to notice their pair was missing.

She returned to find Alastor covered in blood, beautiful and glowing in the moonlight as he emerged from the woods on the opposite side of the road. She would have let him take her right then and there, free and unashamed in the middle of the road if he was not so concerned with being discovered. The road was more well-traveled than he had liked.

Such a shame.

So she drug the broken vehicle deep into the woods for him, pouting that she was given such a difficult task but he rewarded her with the heart he had stolen and so she forgave him easily enough. He had taken the clothing she gave him, stuffed in the pack on his back and ready to be buried when they got back to the cabin.

The Mare had offered her shoulder to him, ever patient as he clambered on her back with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, toes lightly scuffing the ground as she refused to change sizes for him. She waited for the nervous pull of his fingers in her hair, his knees tightening around her ribs and his poor heart fluttering within his thin rib cage before she ran down the road.

He muttered under his breath about her bony back before cursing as her wings outstretched, flapping hard as she dug deep into the hard earth, claws scoring it before she leapt. She answered Alastor's yelp of fear with a whinny of joy as she climbed higher into the sky, falling a few inches with each uplift of her wings as she adjusted to their combined weight and rising feet until she reached an altitude where she could glide easily.

Alastor did not unbury himself from her neck until she could flap lazily without a loss in altitude. She floated along a warm draft, wings strong from her recent kills as she turned south. Above her Alastor righted himself, thighs still clamped tightly around her sides as he slowly released one hand from her mane to rest it behind himself on her rump. He admired the stars above them as they flew, joy and contentment oozing from his mind as he settled.

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Up here he was safe.

Up here no one could reach him.

He had been confused when The Mare had offered him his first ride, taking the insistent pressure of her shoulder against his stomach as a sign that he needed to move, that maybe he had stepped on her or that there was a snake he missed. It wasn't until she began trying to shove her head between his legs, nearly knocking him flat on his face as she managed to shove her neck under him that he finally understood she wanted him to get onto her back.

"Would it not have been easier to write it down?" he sniffed petulantly as she continued to pull at his slacks despite his active swatting her away with his foot. She answered him with a dragon-like snort to the face before resorting to batting his back with her wing.

"Brat," he muttered before he clambered on her back. It was deeply uncomfortable for him. Despite her heavy feeding and the roundness of her hindquarters, the bumps of her spine seemed immune to holding fat and pressed against his own lackluster ass, bone grinding against bone as he struggled to find a suitable spot to sit.

And then there was her height—or lack of it. Alastor rose an eyebrow as he scuffed the tips of his shoes on the dirt. He tried to raise his knees, pressing them under where wing met shoulder and was batted again for it. He tried again, insistent to avoid damaging his shoes and was bitten this time hard enough to draw blood.

"You could at least be taller for me if you insist on doing whatever it is we're doing!" Alastor huffed as she trotted away from the cabin, tail whipping back and forth before she picked up the pace to a light jog. "I'm serious! This is stupid," he grumbled and yet he angled his feet up to avoid touching the ground as The Mare began to move in earnest.

His discomfort was forgotten as they raced through the woods, dodging under low hanging branches and whipping around tree trunks and jumping over fallen logs. His fingers curled instinctually into her mane, back bent over her neck to avoid foliage to the face, knees still held awkwardly under her wing joint to avoid the steady beat of them moving with her shoulder muscle.

He was laughing with glee when she brought him to a clearing. A vaguely familiar clearing where Alastor was sure he had buried someone near but he didn't have much time to think about it before The Mare was sprinting across it. He began to panic as her wings outstretched, the soft membrane rippling with the wind before growing taut as she began to flap.

"No, no no no, don't you dare," he shouted in her ear. She paid him no mind other than to flick both ears back. He could have bailed. Could have jumped from her back and tumbled to a stop while she still had all four feet on the ground.

But he trusted her.

And then she jumped and suddenly his heart was in his throat and he was regretting every decision that had led him to this point. She jumped again, longer this time, wings holding them in the air for two beats before they fell. She growled in frustration, the feel of it resonating between Alastor's legs as he helplessly watched the wall of trees on the other side of the clearing approach with astonishing speed.

They were over halfway through the clearing now, The Mare's legs outstretched as far as they could with every stride, powerful wings matching the thunderous beat of Alastor's own heart as she gathered her legs beneath her in one last jump.

Alastor closed his eyes. The tree line was too close, the angle needed to clear the top of it too steep. She needed to abort this attempt and bank left or else risk catching her wings on the tree branches. He felt his stomach drop as she angled up, thighs tightening hard enough to cramp as his fingers threatened to rip out the hair they were wrapped around.

He was going to vomit.

If he survived.

Oh god, this was such a stupid way to die.

And then they righted and all he could feel was the rush of wind in his hair. No tumbling off her back and hitting branch after branch before hitting solid ground. No snapping of tree branches as they crashed through the canopy. Just the rocking of The Mare beneath him, a back and forth not unlike being on a boat at sea as each pump of those great wings lifted her front end just a few inches higher than the back as she brought them to an altitude where she could comfortably glide.

He opened his eyes slowly, eyes blinking blearily in the unhindered midday sun. Beneath them the Louisiana bayou stretched to the horizon, the sun reflecting brilliantly on the distant ocean as they slowly banked right to follow it. He looked north and let his jaw drop as he could vaguely make out the buildings of New Orleans and beyond.

It was beautiful.

As long as he did not think about how high they were.

He patted his Mare's neck thoughtfully, mouth opening and closing as his throat refused to work properly. The tilt of her ears let him know his thanks was well received and she tossed her head with a happy squeal. They flew until the sun began to set, skimming along the ocean and getting wet from the spray and drying themselves off with every rush of air as The Mare rose high and let them dive bomb, pulling up just in time to feel their feet touch leaves before they rose again.

Their current flight seemed to end too soon. Alastor felt himself pouting as his Mare tilted down and began her descent, the stars already feeling so much smaller as they dipped into the small clearing around The Cabin. Their cold light obscured by clawed branches, the light of the new moon doing little to help them penetrate the canopy above the fell pair.

His consolation came in the warm press of breasts against his chest. Pliant lips against his own and the soft gasps from his pretty partner as he bit against her throat. He lost himself in the feel of her, bending her over the wooden railing and chuckling madly as each vicious thrust of his hips threatened to break the loosening planks. Beneath him his foul Mare twitched and moaned, her throat held tight in his grasp as he bent her back, spine unnaturally arched as he forced her to look up at him even as he shoved her hips against the railing.

He could lose himself counting the stars in her eyes.

Instead he lost himself in the velvet cunt between her legs. Again and again until it was time to return to the city and pretend to be normal for another week.

And beyond them his spirits flitted and hissed with mirth. Their supernatural voices calling from the beyond, praising the pair for another kill well received. Alastor's gods were pleased. He knew because he heard their voices of encouragement every time he fell asleep and heard the ghosts of them when he woke up. He felt the brush of their hands along his chin as he walked the street, his eyes finding would-be-prey and their crimes wafting into his mind before the sounds of the street slammed back into him and he continued on unbothered.

He watched as his spirits flit in his Mare's shadow, teasing around her skirts and tickling her ankles whenever she wandered too far for their liking. In the safety of their home they were more bold: lounging around her shoulders and darting into her curls when he dared to chastise them. Claudette's own spirits watched in curiosity, demure and thoughtful in a way Alastor's own juvenile ones would never be. He often wondered what they reported back to his momma but she never mentioned anything beyond reminding the pair to "be careful" whenever they headed out.

Alastor knew she wasn't talking about the city.

He left extra offerings on his altar as thanks for never begetting his Mare with child. Whether he could or not he did not care to know and he was sure his mother felt the same way. He shuddered to think about what a horror it would be to bind his little pet like that. No. He refused to do so. He would not see her caged.

And yet he found himself fighting the urge to bind her in another way. With every kill he felt his gods grow more pleased at his ill-advised partnership. They liked his Mare. They wanted his Mare. He found his mind wandering to the women of the past. Dark figures in history with names tainted in blood, magic, and fear.

He thought of Nyx whenever she disappeared into the shadows.

Lilith whenever he watched her demure form turn grotesque and monstrous, a demoness on the hunt as she chased prey into the woods.

Elizabeth when she returned covered in blood, skin glistening with supernatural youth and beauty that would never wane nor tarnish in the eons she had left in this world.

Jane when she leaned close to her prey, watching as the light left their eyes and feeding on their fear until the last heart beat.

He thought her Salome reincarnated as she danced with him, entranced by her every movement, a thrall ready to fall at her feet should she but ask it.

Circe, Hel, Jezebel, Mary, Helen, one by one they crept into his mind. Each one playing along his tongue as he dared to toy with them in the privacy of his mind.

And then she was once again a horse, curled up and content in his lap like an overgrown house cat and he remembered that she was not his to claim. He had tamed her yes, but even one as ambitious as he, one who had already sold his soul to secure his high place in Hell, dared not bind her.

Though he would not claim to be fully deterred. Even without his spirits whispering temptation, the thought of how much power he would have with her under his true control taunted him. His shadows fully manifested. His protections robust and everlasting. He could curse with a thought and bless with the wave of his hand. He was only a man after all, cursed with a weakness for temptation thanks to a certain fallen angel.

At least his love for his favorite creature (for how could he deny his love for her) kept his worst qualities at bay. He was cruel. He was vindictive. Ambitious and greedy and so incredibly selfish. But he would be better. For her. And together they would revel in the worst parts of themselves and clean up New Orleans one racist fuck at a time.

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"Alastor, you sneaky brat!"

Alastor cursed as Mimzy's voice rang out across the dance floor, her hand waving to and fro as she hopped up and down to catch his attention. Beside him his Mare bounced just as excited, hopping twice before she ran forward to meet Mimzy in a tight hug.

He hadn't been avoiding his friend per se but maybe he was making sure they only met her inside the sanctity of her speakeasy, where names were avoided. And he definitely wasn't only showing up to her sets at Lou's when he knew a loud band was playing.

Oh gosh, it's so loud in here we can barely talk might as well dance the night away and head home when Mimzy was too drunk to care.

Names? What names. He'd certainly told Mimzy his lady friend's name before! Was she too drunk at the time to remember? Such a shame. Ask her? Oh no, she's mute.

"Oh it would be a mute that tolerated your yapping," Mimzy had chortled a previous Friday night in which Alastor had missed her larger than life presence in between sets. "At least he can more than make up for ya, can't he sweetheart?"

Alastor ignored the way his Mare nodded her head, hands flying around as she mouthed a reply Alastor only half caught. Some jape about the radio but it didn't matter because Mimzy was full of surprises and understood The Mare's flying hands. Alastor had felt his blood run cold as he remembered Mimzy had a deaf cousin and was more than capable of understanding sign language.

And that meant she could ask questions.

He only just managed to knock over his drink in Mimzy's lap as she turned to the Mare with a, "All that talking and he still hasn't even told me your name, babe. What's—OH FUCK! REALLY ALASTOR? THIS WAS NEW!" And off she stomped leaving Alastor to whisk away his Mare, a note left with the barkeep letting her know that they had gone home.

And again they were nearly caught two weeks later. Alastor had been busy playing piano, enjoying the eyes on him as he performed a swing version of Fur Elise to the delight of everyone around him. His Mare had been dancing with a man Alastor vaguely knew, a regular he knew by sight if not name. His eyes had been drawn to her, to the hands that touched hers, the fingers that lingered on her waist. Someone was headed the right way to an early death if he did not stop pulling his woman close in some bastardized version of the tango.

"Uh oh, looks like Charlie's getting a little handsy with ya girl Slim."

"I know," Alastor's hands moved on muscle memory. "I swear if he touches my Ma—", he had caught himself just in time, throat seizing as he stopped himself from saying 'mare'. His neck audibly snapped as he whipped it around to find Mimzy draped on his piano, a shit-eating grin on her face as she giggled at him.

"Jealous type, are we? Who'd have guessed? So, Mary? Masie? Maggie?"

Luckily Alastor was able to whisk himself away, eyes darting back to his Mare as her hand came up to block an attempted kiss on the cheek from her dance partner. "Oh that motherfucker—," and Charlie was never seen again.

And here they were again, dancing away the night at Mimzy's after a quick little jaunt in an alley two streets over that resulted in one dead man stuffed into a trashcan. Well. Multiple trashcans courtesy of one supernaturally strong Mare. A girl needed her hobbies after all. No doubt the blood would be found in the morning and the kill attributed to The Butcher of New Orleans; that boogeyman that haunted the streets and made folk afraid to walk on their own.

Something always ate away at Alastor when he had to report on his own crimes. His mind filling in the blanks as he read off the press releases and warned the citizenry to lock up tight and keep their wits about them. They were his kills. HIS! And didn't he deserve just a little bit of recognition for them?

Oh, of course he knew he couldn't do a damn thing about it. One wrong rumor to the white ear and he would be lucky if the only thing done to him was being hung from a tree. He would never live to see trial, to walk past adoring fans and terrorized sheep alike as he strode confidently up the courthouse steps. His voice to never grace the radio waves again and his words lost and buried under the dirt they would throw him in.

But he was selfish. His worst trait really. Here he was, the most dangerous man in New Orleans forced to bow his head and give his 'yes sir, no sir's just to survive another day. None of them knew the power he held. The magic at his beck and call. The gods at his back that guided his knife and kept him unseen. They did not know of the creature he kept in his bed that haunted their nightmares and dogged their footsteps as the sun set. They did not know that it was at his whim that the offal of his fair city continued to live through each night. They did not know that as his power would grow, Alastor Laveau had lofty plans for the blue bloods. The judges. The senators. Hell, if he relied on His Mare enough what was to stop him from walking into Congress itself! He'd take all those motherfuckers that dared to—

A sharp knock to the side of his head brought him back to the present.

"Wha—? Oh, sorry darling. Lost in my own thoughts for a moment." Alastor dropped his hands from the Mare's waist, rubbing instead at the back of his neck and cracking it loudly. Before him his little beastie crossed her arms and cocked her hips, mouth turned up in a look that said, 'You've been doing that a lot lately.'

"Don't look at me like that", he sniffed.

She continued to do so and rattled off something with her hands that he was only able to half-catch thanks to her exaggerated facial expressions. 'I can't help….tell me….mind'.

Alastor sighed and turned her to his side, wrapping their arms together as he led them to a small booth hidden in the corner. Their table for the night was all ready for them, their drinks of choice and a small note with a kiss from Mimzy telling them to save a dance for her because she had big news resting innocently in the center.

"Just a lot on my mind, my dear. Nothing to worry your little head about." A distinctly horse-like snort begged to differ as The Mare settled into the cushions. "We've just been a little too successful lately. The spirits are greedy for more and are….mmm, more distracting as of late. Nothing I can't handle. They will calm soon, they always do."

Skeptical red eyes narrowed at him even as he watched the wayward fingers of a spirit wrap around her ankle. "Don't you trust me?" Soft. Tender. The type of tone that gets under the skin. And under the skin it did! For his Mare relented with a sigh and rested her chin on her palm, picking up her empty glass and holding it out with a little shake for Alastor to fill it.

He laughed quietly to himself as he poured her moonshine. It always tickled him how tame he managed to get his Mare. Only he could capture a wild spirit, mollify it enough to get it to take human form and have it tamed enough to walk among her prey with nary a nibble. He really did deserve a novel about his life. For who else would have dared to—

"There you are! My two favorite people in the world!"

Alastor barely had time to place the drink in his hand back down on the table before Mimzy slammed into his back, hugging him from behind once before pushing him aside to practically tackle the Mare into the soft cushions of their booth. His irritation only lasted a moment, amusement rising to take its place as he watched two of his favorite gals giggle as they struggled to untangle their limbs as they sat up.

"Mimzy! What's this about 'big news'?" Alastor offered her his own glass of whiskey, content to sip from the bottle.

"Oh! My! Gawd!" Mimzy sat up straight and hiked up the bosom of her dress before slamming her palms down on the table. "You are nevah gonna guess what happened!" Oh, she was always so cute when she got excited. That little Brooklyn accent of hers getting heavier and heavier the more worked up she got.

'Tell us! Tell us!'

Alastor smiled at his Mare and motioned for Mimzy to stop bouncing in her seat. "Yes dear, tell us!"

Mimzy took a deep breath, practically going cross-eyed before she pulled both friends in close, their heads against hers as she harshly whispered, "I got the role!"

Silence.

Alastor coughed and gently removed her hand from his tie but did not make an effort to move away. "What role dear?"

"What role? WHAT ROLE? Baby cakes the big role! The lead role!" Mimzy shoved Alastor away lightly and wrapped her arm around the Mare's neck, the other arm rising up towards the dim lights as if trying to show her the stars. "Ya girl is gonna be on the big screen!"

Alastor tilted his head before realization dawned. "Oh shit," he whispered, "Hollywood?"

"HOLLYWOOD BABY!" Mimzy cackled and kicked her feet before she reached out to slam back the whiskey in a single gulp.

Alastor felt something akin to pride for his friend as she continued to visibly shake with excitement. She was an absolute doll, her loud style and even louder personality perfect for the silver screen. She was the perfect up and coming starlet. "Well damn," he mused, "Guess I'll have to start going to the picture shows."

"Damn straight, Slim! And you'll talk up my movies on your little radio show, riiiight?"

"Of course!" He really would. Mimzy was his closest (human) friend and probably the only one who managed to catch on to his extracurricular activities in the bayou. She was a different type of bloodthirsty after all. "All of New Orleans will be behind you, dear."

Beside Mimzy The Mare nodded vigorously, hands happily signing out congratulations and promises to support their little starlet anyway they could. Mimzy wiped away a fake tear, sniffling loudly as she proclaimed, "You two are the best friends a girl like me could hope for! NOW LET'S PARTY!"

Alastor snorted as Mimzy grabbed his tie again and dragged him out to the dance floor, cackling as she yelled over her shoulder, "I'm gonna borrow your man for a second, girlie! Then you and me are gonna flaunt." She whipped Alastor around to her front. "Our." Alastor promptly spun her around and began to move to the music. "Stuff!! Ha-HA!"

Around and around they went, swapping partners with each song and snagging new ones when not pounding down their illegal alcohol. When dancing with Mimzy, Alastor found himself yapping happily with her about the glorious future she was going to have. Money. Cars. Dresses. Boys. Oh it was great fun gossiping about her bright and shiny future.

When dancing with his Mare he found himself quieter but still thrumming with excitement as his fingers traced familiar paths along her spine. They flirted under the dim lights, ghosting kisses against cheeks and necks as they brushed close and rolling hips together seductively, playing their little game of who would break first. Sometimes it was The Mare dragging him into the alley, sometimes it was him slipping a finger under her skirt at the table, sometimes it was even a chase along the water's edge that ended up in a tumble and the two of them silently losing themselves under the night sky.

And then suddenly he had a new partner, some shy young thing or a flirty vixen he'd seen around. It didn't matter to them so long as they could keep up til the end of the song. He barely remembered these ephemeral partners, his eyes drawn to His Mare as she was lead by some new partner or giggling her way through Mimzy's lead. He didn't like it when other men touched what was his but more than that, something niggled away at the back of his mind. A warning that he couldn't shake. His spirits whispering in his ear that he should do something about the unworthy hands that dare to—

"So, ya gonna marry that girl or what?"

Dear lord, what was wrong with him? He couldn't keep his mind in the present to save himself lately. "What now? Sorry, Mimzy. I've been distracted as of late."

"Uh-huh." Mimzy tilted her head coyly and leaned closer to whisper, "Usually when a man is this distracted it's because there's a little diamond ring in his pocket."

Oh. Oh no. "Ah ha ha, you're so funny," Alastor laughed awkwardly. "Marriage isn't for us. I just don't like watching people touch what's mine."

"No? That's a shame."

Alastor felt his neck crick with the speed in which he whipped down to look at her, tearing his eyes from His Mare at the shrewd tone of Mimzy's voice. "She's quite the pretty little mystery you brought down here. I hear there's a lotta fellas tripping over themselves to get a dance with her."

And didn't Alastor know that.

"It's like a game to them, trying to get her to speak to them. Or maybe they just like a girl who doesn't talk back." Alastor grumbled as Mimzy continued. "Or maybe they just like the idea of trying to steal away Alastor's girl."

"It's not my fault they can't keep their women satisfied." It wasn't Alastor's fault if he used to dance with other men's women. He didn't do it on purpose. He danced with whoever could keep up with him and it wasn't his fault if that and being easy on the eyes made him popular with the ladies.

Mimzy chortled and smacked him on the chest. "See! And you wonder why they're taking the chance on your girl. A little tit for tat, don't you agree?" Okay, fine, maybe he deserved that.

"You ain't worried about her?" The concern in Mimzy's voice warmed his little black heart.

"Of course not. She's a big girl and I know she's…," he was going to say loyal, like she was a dog and that left a bitter taste in his mouth. "…she's mine and I hers and that's all there is to it."

"Hmm, someone should tell that to Anton." Oh, he did not like that smarmy tone of voice and stopped dancing immediately to follow Mimzy's line of sight.

It was not a new sight to see his Mare dancing with someone. She was gorgeous and mysterious and learned quickly. Why, she had picked up in a month what had taken Alastor years and was now a force to be reckoned with on the dance floor. Thanks in part, he assumed, to the occasional murder of a man or two who didn't understand the word 'no'.

So no, it was not unusual to see her frolicking around with a male dance partner while Alastor and Mimzy took their turn together. In fact, despite the jealousy he felt, Alastor liked having something that other men wanted. It filled him with the sort of masculine pride that often left a bitter taste in his mouth and reminded him that he was barely any better than your standard man.

Usually he was spared watching the unwanted advances on his Mare. He only ever caught glimpses of hands lingering and pathetic attempts at kissing on the cheek that she deftly avoided with the swift ending of their dance or a quick grab of the face. That flicker of fear as she squeezed once harshly before letting them go filling Alastor with want as he quickly replaced the offending man with the quick bump of his hip.

Never before was he forced to watch another hold His Mare back to chest, a foreign chin hooked over her shoulder and a nose that had no right burrowing into her loose hair. An arm that was not Alastor's wrapped around her waist and held her close as the other hand traced along her jaw, threatening to bring their lips closer together than what Alastor was comfortable with watching. At first glance they looked like lovers and Alastor vaguely wondered if that was what they looked like as they flirted along the dance floor.

And then cold dread settled in his stomach as he looked at his Mare.

She had gone deathly still, the kind that made her look like a paper cut out standing there as the world moved on around her, not even bothering to fake the subtle movements of human breathing as she stared hard at the man behind her. Alastor felt himself murmuring, "Oh shit," under his breath as he felt the subtle vibrations of warning coming from her, ripples of magic that cut through the music as loudly as a freight train for those who were sensitive to it.

Mimzy was not so sensitive and cackled loudly as she wrapped her hands around her waist. "Oooo, he is gonna get slapped so fucking hard if he doesn't watch it!"

He was going to get more than that. Her usual placid expression had turned hard, eyes wide and glowing in a way that could not be fully explained by catching the light. Her nails had lengthened to full claws, fingers spread wide at her side and subtly shaking with the effort to not dig them into the chest of the man who's hand, once on her chin, now dragged down her side towards her thigh.

Anton's lips moved, no doubt whispering what he thought was flirtatious banter. Promises of pleasure to be had under silken bed sheets. Foul, lustful words that caused his Mare's nose to scrunch and her lips to curl, revealing, much to Alastor's unusual dread, enormous canines that he knew could do so much more than rip out a throat.

Alastor needed to stop her. Immediately. He did not mind watching her get her claws dirty; fuck he loved watching her tear limbs apart and on any other day he would happily watch her tear out a throat dressed to the nines in a flashy new dress. But they were in public. In Mimzy's club. In a place where people knew they were an item.

She just couldn't commit flat out murder and dismemberment no matter how offended she was. She'd get Alastor a one way ticket to the jailhouse and Mimzy could say goodbye to her Hollywood career. They'd be ruined. He'd be ruined.

Because he had been stupid enough to think he could control her.

He watched with horror as Anton began to lower his head towards hers.

What had he been thinking? She was beyond him. She only bowed to his whims because he entertained her. He was just a man. A man who had to kill regularly to keep his spirits and gods happy lest he lose his good luck, a man who had to sell his soul to guarantee his strength in Hell, a man who only by sheer dumb luck wasn't killed by the very creature who was going to rip out a man's heart in front of dozens of witnesses.

"Little one!" He called.

"Don't do it!" He begged.

"Little Ma—," time froze as lips that were not his touched hers.

She was going to do it. Her wide eyes and twitching claws told him so. She was going to kill a man and rend him limb from limb in front of everyone if he didn't do something.

Whispers in his ear told him what to do and who was he but their puppet forced to obey?

"—Mare, fuck, MARY DON'T!"

He didn't need to shout it. The magic would have heard him regardless if he had whispered it or yelled it at the top of his lungs. A name finally given to a creature who had been nameless for millennia. She was no longer the bump in the night or the flicker of shadow in the corner of your eye. The boundless fear of night nor the pounding of a heart in ones ribs at the cracking of twigs.

Alastor had caught himself The Nightmare and bound her to his house, he had given her trust and earned hers in return. He had tried to set her free but in the end, did she really have a choice when she came back to him? He had altered magic for her, labeled her and made her known in his practice, shown her to his gods and spirits that there was something new for them to consume. How much of her returning to him and taking human form was her choice and how much was the magic of the circle and the house influencing her?

How much had Alastor's own twisted love weakened her? She who had only ever watched humans from the darkness now thrust among them to satisfy Alastor's own whims. She who had never known love as a Mare but now thrived in it as a human.

Love was a cage crueler than any rope or sigil. Love had tamed her. Love had bound her.

Summon, bind, and tame all held within the Name.

Claudette's words echoed in his brain as The Mare—no—as Mary looked back at him in horror. Behind him Mimzy's victorious shout of glee sounded miles away, "I knew her name was Mary! Ha ha! Why'd ya have to be so sneaky?!"

And then his Mare was bolting, tearing herself out of Anton's arms with a struggle she would never had had just 10 seconds ago. Alastor watched in horror as he saw visible shaking in her legs as she nearly tripped twice making her way to the exit and yet warmth filled his chest as his gods expressed just how pleased they were with him for finally capturing her.

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What had he done? What had he done????!!!!

He had bound her! With a foreign magic she did not know! He had bound her like this! In this human body! Unable to do nothing but push away the man who had dared to kiss her!

For the first time in centuries the night air was cold as she burst into the alleyway. Her body ached as she ran blindly down it, heedless of Alastor's shout behind her. This body was not meant to contain her, to limit her power and form and magic and all that she was and could ever be.

She did not feel the pull of the shadows as she turned towards the river.

She did not feel the curious minds that turned towards her.

She could feel nothing beyond the chill of the air and the brush of her fine dress against her skin.

No fear. No anger. No sadness. She only felt herself and her own panic at being cut off from all that she was.

Panic! Her! She did not panic! Not anymore! Not since she was small and weak and under the fangs of that creature she would not name that tore at her belly. One such as she didn't panic because of a mere human.

It was ridiculous!

Absurd!

Wrong in all ways for she was a Great Spirit and had no fear of pathetic, skinny humans!

"Little Mare! Wait!" She felt herself slowing as Alastor called out to her, resist all she might at his order. For it was an order, wasn't it? Even though his own doubts about it left her a little wiggle room to defy it. She continued to jog towards the river, body on autopilot as she struggled to breathe through the panic.

Her! Struggling to breathe! When had she ever—???

Fear flooded her senses again as Alastor's long strides began to overtake her shorter ones. Why couldn't she change? Why was she stuck like this? She wanted to run dammit and fly!

"Little Mare! Slow down will you!?," he was just as breathless as she as he reached out to grab at her shoulder. "I said stop!"

The Order in his voice wracked through her body and she instantly stilled against her will.

"Oh fuck," Alastor stopped a few steps later as he realized what he had done. "I'm sorry, little Mare. I-I didn't mean to do that I—I—You can move."

She was on him instantly, tackling her once favorite human off the trail and down the embankment, fists clenched in his nice vest as they tumbled towards the river's edge. She landed on top of him, face twisted in fury as she straddled his stomach, teeth bared in rage. Alastor's hands instantly went up, either to protect himself or placate her she did not know or care. She lifted him easily and slammed him back down twice, tears beginning to well up in her eyes at his betrayal.

"Shh, shh, shh, nonono don't do that," he whispered despite the pain he must be in. "Don't cry. Please don't do that. I don't know how much I can undo if you're human enough to cry."

What did it matter? She loved him! Wasn't that already too much??

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to Name you." The Mare could not feel Alastor's emotions rubbing at her conscious any more. She was alone. Contained. "It was an accident. I panicked. I panicked and made a mistake but I can fix it! Just let me up, okay? Please, my dear, my love, trust me?"

Trust? TRUST???? Trust was how she got here! Bound and leashed and why was she so cold???

But he had asked and she was unable to resist. Her body moved on it's own, limbs jerky as she resisted the order to let him up. Alastor cursed again as he watched her stand, his hands wiping unconsciously at his thighs as he struggled to work through a solution that wouldn't end up with her teeth at his throat.

Because she really was going to kill him this time.

He had bound her!

"Alright," long fingers that she had once loved ran through soft curls that she never wanted to touch again. "I, Alastor Renée Laveau, release the Nightmare Named Mary from my custody."

Nothing. Her body still ached with containment and she wanted to vomit.

"Nothing? Uhm, okay. I, Alastor Renée Laveau, deem the creature Named Mary to have fulfilled her contract with me and is so released from my service."

She snorted derisively. They had no 'contract'.

"Shit. Let me try…"

And so he had tried. Over and over and over again various ways and various words to release her from his hold. His service. His custody.

And as he paced, eyes downcast and chin held in his hand as he struggled to find the words his spirits would not let him find, Mary began to cry.

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The sound of a woman crying was a sound Alastor dreaded above all else. It was the sound that haunted his childhood, a sound that reminded him just how weak and impotent he could be. A sound that made him feel a failure.

A sound that had no business coming from his Mare.

He had done her a great evil he could not come back from. An evil he swore to himself and his mother that he would never commit. An atrocity committed against the only creature he had ever dared to love.

He opened his arms to her, scared to speak and accidentally force her to bend to his will. She stiffened at his movement, eyes wide in bewilderment before signing her anger at him, his audaciousness. She was so, so angry and so hurt and he did not need to know sign language or be a great lip reader to know she was cursing him out in every language she knew before finally, she grew tired of silence.

"How dare you," her throat croaked with a horrid voice that was never meant to speak, "What did you do to me?" Her finger pressed against his chest harshly as she repeated, "How. Dare. You."

Long ago he would have given nearly anything to hear her speak. He did not want this.

"I didn't mean to," Alastor wrapped his hand around her fist, squeezing it once before she wrenched it from his grasp as if unable to bear the feel of him. She spat at his feet and began to pace, hands wrapped around her middle as she continued to sniffle through her anger and shock before she turned to glare at him.

"You didn't trust me," each syllable sounded as if she was dragging her throat through gravel.

"What?"

The Mare rolled her eyes and rubbed at her throat, clearly pained. "Didn't trust. Wasn't going to kill."

"No, no I know what I saw and you were going to—," Alastor stopped talking and thought back to the speakeasy. What had he really seen? He had seen his Mare angry, her unworldliness flashing for just a second before she began to reach for a throat.

He heard the whisper of his spirits in his head, their begging him to stop questioning and to trust them.

No. Yes. She had reached up for Anton's face, he knew that much. And then panic raced through him, confusing his mind and making his heart throb as he imagined in his mind's eye how she would tear Anton to pieces.

"Not kill," she repeated again and Alastor's mind cleared. Because he trusted her.

It was his own blind panic that made him see claws and fang. His own spirits and his own gods forcing him to see what was not there. Forcing him to action. Forcing names he did not want to speak against his tongue as they filled his head with visions of violence and bloodshed.

"I was tricked," he said lamely. "But it doesn't matter. You're right. Always right."

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Well, wasn't that the first sensible thing he said all night. Stupid, stupid man.

"I don't know how to fix this," Alastor sighed and began to pace again. "Do you…do you have any ideas?"

Oh. Oh she did and he was not going to like it. She felt her lips turn up into a grin that lost it's potency without her fangs but still set Alastor on edge.

He stood still as she stalked forward, a hand outstretched as she dared him to back away. Dared him to run away from the horror he had forced upon her. She would give him credit where credit was due, Alastor did not flinch as she wrapped a hand around his throat.

"Of course," he sighed and leaned against her touch with eyes closed, "You're bound to me as long as I live. Only my death will set you free."

And would he do it? Would he risk his precious life just to let a spirit like her go? Or would he try to pretend as if he did not now control her every move, that even her mere form was bound by his will and that she would be bound to follow every order that fell from his traitorous lips?

His eyes drifted to the river.

A pink tongue darted out to wet dry lips.

Shaking hands reached up to remove smudged glasses and tucked them safely into a breast pocket.

A Mare's hand did not leave a thin throat.

She did not need unfettered access to her magic to know that he was scared. The fluttering heartbeat against her thumb told her all she needed to know.

Her favorite brown eyes returned to hers. "I give you my first and only true Order. Drown me in the river until my heart stops. And then…because of the love you bear me, will you bring me back?"

She did not hesitate. This man, this Alastor that she had loved and cherished and enjoyed had betrayed her most foul. She had killed thousands for less.

She would miss him.

She would mourn him.

But she would not regret killing him.

She used every bit of her restrained strength to toss him into the river and followed him down. He came up sputtering, hand wiping at his eyes and struggling to get up on his knees before she was upon him again. She grabbed those lovely curls in a cruel fist and shoved him down again.

It was deceptively easy to drown a man if you sat upon their back, using your own weight to hold down his center of gravity and shove his face harshly into the mud if he dared to get a knee up under himself. She didn't even bother to let him up a few times just to prolong his torture as was her usual modus operandi.

What was the point if she could not feel the fear running through her victim? If she couldn't catch the little glimpses of hope as she let them up for air only to dash it against the very waters she forced them back into? No, she held him down steadfastly and cruelly.

She ignored the way his long, graceful fingers scratched at her hand.

She ignored the way his legs scrambled behind her.

She watched silent and indifferent as the steady stream of bubbles around her arm began to taper off second by second until there was none. The body beneath her stilled and she did not let it up.

She leaned back and gazed upon the stars and waited. And waited. Until a heart gave up and she felt her chains break.

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Once again, she was free! Free to fly and change and feel as she flew through the midnight sky.

But freedom left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She still had time to turn around and kill him again. To fill her mouth with his life blood and more of his soul for the crime of what he did to her.

The man she had loved and been loved by was most likely stirring from his drowning, alone and cold on that dark riverbed. His lungs burning and stomach heaving as he threw up water and who knows what else.

His betrayal burned through her chest and she shook it off. Getting to live was more than he deserved.

But his betrayal did not stop her from landing at The Cabin. Call her sentimental but she often liked to reminisce about places before she left them for good.

She liked this little cabin. She liked how isolated it was. She liked the taxidermy inside and the warm fireplace where she and Al—He would snuggle. She liked the cozy bed and the lazy mornings of two bodies bringing each other pleasure over and over again until one needed to eat.

She liked The Shed and the memories within. The instruments of torture that she touched with claws that would never again take human form. She liked being taken for the first time on its floor, covered in blood and in full glory of their kill.

She liked taking the trail from The Shed into the bayou, her claws daintily avoiding pits and critters and roots as she meandered through the trees. She liked the clearing where she had taken Him for their first flight. She wandered east to the very spot where she had accidentally saved Him, the damage from her battle with the rougarou long grown over and only visible to those who knew where to look.

She had really liked this place. This town. This swamp. That man and his mother. She had planned on staying until…well, until His death. She supposed that requirement was met.

She could go.

She could go with no regrets, never to return again to human form.

She would never again let herself get too close to her prey.

She would never lose herself in her play-pretend.

She was a Mare and a Mare she would stay.

A Mare did not take human form. A Mare did not dance. Did not laugh or tease or have sex. A Mare did not like to wear pretty dresses and follow recipes or learn to sew. A Mare did not learn to love and be loved in return and most of all she did not regret a single moment of it.

She did not regret loving her human for as little as she did. She did not regret joining Him in murder nor the thrill of chasing one's prey through the woods. She did not regret taking a form to please him and earn his praise and enjoy being in his bed because she was a Mare dammit and everything she did was because she wanted it!

If she had any regrets it was that she let herself trust Him too much. She trusted HIM and look what HE did to HER!? He had betrayed her! He had trapped her! He had loved her! And she would never be able to let him go, her stupid stupid human. Her lovely Alastor with his lovely voice and persistent smile. Never again would she feel the touch of his hands on her ears or the way he tilted her chin just so before—

A shot rang out through the silence and The Mare dropped to the ground as ice cold death pierced right between her eyes.

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A/N: Jane Toppan was a serial killer nurse who got off on killing and Elizabeth Bathory was accused of killing servants and bathing in their blood. I figured the rest of the names Alastor came up with are infamous enough that y'all kinda know who they are. And Mary could be any number of Mary's: the virgin, the whore, the bloody one. It's so…versatile.

She can run all she likes but he knows exactly where she’s going.

A snap of a branch and Alastor’s head whips to the left just in time to see a flash of white and a pair of birds scatter. He doesn’t fight the vicious grin that spreads across his face, his cheeks positively aching as he prowls after her. She’s heading right towards the little snare trap he set out at the beginning of this endeavor; the thought of falling for such a simple trick never even occurring to a creature like her.

For who would be stupid enough to trap her?

Stupid? No. Daring. That’s the word he’d use. Along with bold, audacious, and fearless.

Yes, he was all of those things and more. He was a trailblazer. A pioneer in the art of taming Great Spirits. There were none alive like him, of that he was certain.

Another snap and a yelp of surprise from up ahead and he was off, foregoing his stealth and running as quickly as he could to the creature before she could set herself free. His heart was racing, pounding in his ears even as he felt saliva pool in his mouth at the thought of finally catching her -- of what he’d do to her when he got his hands on her.

She had just freed herself when he came upon her, panting with excitement more than exertion as he loomed over her. She paused only a moment, red eyes fixed on him in challenge before she bolted again. He raised his rifle, calmly taking aim as she darted with inhuman grace around the twisting roots he had chased her into.

But he knew the truth.

Though she may appear to be a woman, those legs were a recent acquisition. She was not as steady on them as she looked.

He fired at a tree ahead of the fleeing woman, cutting off her escape as she flinched. It was enough. Just enough that she lost her balance and fell, her noise of frustration music to Alastor’s ears as he ran after her. He tossed the rifle aside as he once again came upon her, this time her eyes filled with worry as she looked up at him.

“Caught you, darling.”

Her gasp fueled the growing fire in his belly, one large hand grasping her free ankle and the other warding off her hands as she tried and only marginally succeeded in cutting him. The pain meant nothing, the blood meant nothing as he grabbed one of those flailing arms and flipped her over, her white skirt rising with a motion as she struggled to reorient herself.

“My, my, what a dirty girl you are,” he flipped the edge of her skirt up, briefly exposing a moist and dripping cunt. Fuck yes. “What kind of whore runs around the bayou with her bits exposed, hmmm?”

She glared back at him, mouth twisted in the vile sneer that told him exactly what he wanted to hear. “That’s right,” he whispered to her as he grabbed her hair and forced that angry face into the dirt, “My whore.”

She gasped in pleasure as he bit her, his teeth nearly breaking the unblemished skin of her neck as he pressed himself against her, his cock throbbing hard and ready and so, so desperate to fill her. “I’ve…waited…all…day…for this,” he bucked against her with every word, body thrumming with the pleasure he’d been seeking for hours.

“And what would you know?”, one hand struggled to undo his pants, the adrenaline racing through his body making the whole process harder than it had ever been. Or maybe it was because of the Mare beneath him, her hips desperately seeking friction even as his other hand kept her pinned by the neck. “I’m not wearing underwear either,” Alastor’s cock sprung free from its cloth prison, the tip just barely brushing against her bare skin before he placed it between her cheeks, amusing himself by spreading his precum around her puckered hole as she whined.

“Oh, I’m sorry darling, feeling a little frustrated down there?” 

She snarled and snapped at him, her inhuman teeth flashing dangerously in the low light and Alastor felt himself throb. He lunged towards her, the hand that was playing with his pre now wrapped around her face, her cheeks squished and tainted with his desire as he pressed his lips against them, mouthing his words against her skin as he let his cock slip lower, the head of it teasing her entrance, slipping just barely in and out as he rocked his hips.

“You foul creature,” his words were garbled against her cheek but she heard every word clear as day, “I hate you. I love you. How dare you make me like this! Do you feel it? How badly I want you? How much I want to fuck you, my dear? My sweet little Mare? You fucking bitch. How dare you!”

His hand slipped from her hair and grasped the base of his cock, “How--”

He lined himself up, fingers just brushing against that dripping wet slit, “--dare--”

He thrust forward with a snarl, sheathing himself completely with a guttural, “--YOU!!” She wailed beneath him, each whimper of pleasure punched out of her with the sheer force of his thrusts. “I fucking love you,” he cursed under his breath as he moved, his head dropping to rest against hers as he released her face. His hands came up to wrap under her shoulders, using them as a brace to pull her back upon him, never letting her get farther than the tip of his cock would allow, the slick slick slick of their movements driving him to madness.

It wasn’t enough.

He needed more. He needed more of her. His sweetly vicious and pliant Mare, her hips meeting his every thrust enthusiastically, the happy trill of pleasure from her throat fueling him to grip harder, thrust harder, to bite into her flesh again as he drove them towards completion.

“A-alastor!” Her voice, that sweet voice calling to him, chanting his name over and over as she gave into the pleasure.

“That’s it, say my name. C’mon, let me feel it. Let me feel you cum around me. I wanna feel you darling, my sweet Mare, my love, let me feel it c’mon. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon--” He chanted with her, babbling incoherently as he felt his orgasm rising, coiling in his gut and threatening to burn him from within but she needed to cum first she needed to-- 

The first tug at his hair damn near made him spill, his hips stuttering at the shock and disorienting him so completely he almost fell off her.

The second…woke him up.

The first thing he registered was his Mare was in his arms, her back to him as he curled around her with one hand wrapped around her breast and the other wrapped tightly around her waist. The second thing he noticed was her hand in his hair, no longer tugging but just held there as she looked over her shoulder at him, expression unreadable in the barely there morning light.

He felt bile rise in his throat as she released him, sharp nails lightly scraping his scalp as she turned away. Cold dread trickled down his spine as she turned in his arms, his hands slowly releasing her as his panic began to grow.

Was she angry at him?

Disappointed?

She had to be upset. He needed her to be upset. Why wouldn’t she be? He was just dreaming about chasing her down and forcing her to--

He gagged as she faced him, her impassive face scant inches from his own as she reached between them to press her hands against his cheeks. She was going to kill him. Snap his neck for pressing his traitorous cock against her. For humping her like a dog, for assaulting--

He flinched as she moved a hand down his face, fingers lightly trailing along his fluttering pulse, his collarbone, his shoulder. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t right! That hand continued trailing down his arm, now snatched back from her alluring figure and thrown back behind him as if touching her would burn him.

He didn’t understand. What was she doing? Why was she touching him, her touch simultaneously soothing and aggravating as she traced along his hip bone, his panic rising once again as he suddenly had the thought that she was going to rip his cock off.

He flinched again as she cupped him instead, holding him tenderly in her palm before she moved her thumb, dragging it up and down his length, teasing him through his thin underwear. It was everything he desperately wanted. It was everything he feared.

The whine that erupted from his throat was a ragged thing, torn and painful as he struggled against her curious touch. Her thin fingers grasping him tight, exactly how he liked it, pumping him twice through the cotton before she looked down.

Mortified. He was absolutely mortified as she released him instead to run the tip of her finger sharp nails sharp sharp sharp please please hurt him along the increasingly wet patch of fabric stuck to his cockhead. More whines from his throat as she grasped him again, her thumb pressing into his weeping head, precum bubbling through the restricting fabric as he leaked in her palm.

This wasn’t right! She needed to stop! He needed to stop her! She didn’t need to indulge his dreams, his sins! He couldn’t let her do this, couldn’t let her taint herself with his base human needs! He was foul! A monster! A rap--

A snarl tore its way through Alastor’s throat as he lunged at her, forcing her shoulders back into the mattress as he straddled her, her thin wrist too thin too thin she needs to feed held tightly in his grip as he pressed her down. Her eyes were wide as he leaned down, darting around his face as he felt his perpetual smile morph into a sneer as he bared his teeth at her.

“Don’t.” He found her other wrists and slammed them both beside her head. “Touch.” He leaned in close, his voice dropping into a low whisper as he felt the venom pool in his throat. “Me.” He huffed above her, heart still racing with his panic, his shame, his still unwavering lust as he held the object of his desire between his legs, within his hands.

Panic hit him again. His Mare’s eyes, always so wide with wonder as if opening them wider would show her more of the world around her, were now wide with fear. No. No no nonono. No! She can’t feel fear, she is fear itself and if she felt fear then something serious must be happening and what could be happening inside this bed beyond--

Bile rose again in the back of Alastor’s throat, very nearly spilling into his mouth as he released her wrists, hands springing away from her again as if burned as he sat up on his knees. “I-I-I’m,” his words lodged in his throat as once again cold terror trickled down his spine. “Oh fuck I--I need a shower.”

He ran. Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bathroom door slammed shut and The Mare flinched along with it, remaining on her back, arms still positioned beside her head as if Alastor was still holding them there. She counted the tick tick tocks of the clock on the wall, head spinning with the contradictions she just experienced.

Alastor was mad at her. Yes. Very mad.

But also distressed, his panic palpable even through the heavy wooden door between them.

He was aroused. Humping in his sleep and his member rudely waking her up by pressing insistently against her lower back. His soft moans as he moved, the mumbling of ‘little mare little mare’ driving her to pull on his hair, if only to wake him.

She had wanted to join him. She was in a human form now, with new human needs that she never experienced as an animal. She wanted to explore that with Alastor, learn the ways that pleasure could be divined from this body whether through murder, feeding or sex; she wanted to experience it all. 

But only with Her Alastor. That heinous man that had wormed its way into her non-existent heart.

But he didn’t want that? Despite his body’s reactions? Despite the heady neediness rolling off him in waves tainted with despair? Rotted with shame?

She didn’t understand. He wanted and yet denied himself. He kissed her, fondled the softness of her thigh and dragged his fingers along her spine until he fell asleep. As she drifted in her own daze, she had felt his mind relax more than it ever had in the weeks they had known each other. He had shared once that sleep did not come easy to him and never for very long unless he had recently killed and yet, he had completely succumbed last night.

Subconsciously, he knew he was safe. That his place was at her side and she his. That they were kindred spirits, bonded through their craving for blood and need to dominate, to torture and tease and sow chaos and fear wherever they roamed. She would see him safe, she would see him succeed, she would see him thrive if only he could conquer himself!

But maybe…he was not ready. Humans had short lives, it made sense to rush through life, experience all they can before they expire; but once again, Her Alastor defied expectations. He moved at his own pace, his mind his greatest enemy as they navigated their new path together.

She would back off. Let him come to her. He wouldn’t be able to resist her for long, not after they killed together. That would be the catalyst, she was sure of it. 

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Alastor had tried his best to drown in the shower. Laid on his back, legs bent awkwardly, a washcloth over his face so he could damn near waterboard himself in the cold spray aimed at his chest.

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t his best. He certainly could waterboard himself to death if he only raised the shower head a bit higher. But it was the drama of the situation that mattered.

He had been cross with his Mare, speaking to her with misplaced venom meant for himself. He had shoved her into the bed, using his size advantage over her to pin her in place, to put her in her place.

A place she didn’t belong and nevertheless he kept putting her there.

Beneath him, physically, mentally, spiritually…she could never belong there. She was his better in every way: strong and nearly invulnerable, highly intelligent and would only become more so each time she fed, and she was a spirit so powerful that she could walk within the daylight with little inconvenience, choosing shadow only because that was what she was. 

She was perfect.

And his traitorous body only wanted to fuck her. Was he truly so incapable that he was undone by the curve of a waist? The graceful arch of her neck? The prick of her claws as she touched him?

What a cruel man he was.

His mother was right. He needed his wits about him or else he’d bind her. Force her to his will when there was no need to do so. When she willingly stayed with him, humored his wants and needs and took a human form just for the express purpose of accompanying him.

He couldn’t…he shouldn’t use her for his own base needs. They would hunt together because that was what they would do even without the other but he wouldn’t fuck her, not when they wouldn’t pursue the pleasure on their own.

He would not taint that creature. He would not sully her with his seed, his desires, the clumsiness of his hands on her new skin. 

He needed to apologize. Again.

Gods he was a mess.

Just one week. One week and he’ll be dandy.

He could do this. He got his own show after all, in the south as a black man. He was determined. He was headstrong. He always got what he wanted. And what he wanted right now was to not catch the bloody whiff of her as he buried his nose into her hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I must apologize once again my dear,” the bathroom door opens as Alastor calmly walks out of the bathroom. “I am unaccustomed to…,” he waved his hand above his crotch and grimaced, “ah, arousal and acted rudely.” The Mare watched him impassively, perched on the end of his bed.

“It was no excuse to take my…frustrations out on you, dear one.” He approached her slowly, watching for signs of her anger as he stood above her. When she did nothing, moving only enough to lift her head to keep him in sight, he stretched out his hand to gently grasp her chin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. I shan’t do it again.” She closed her eyes, humming thoughtfully in his grip before she placed her own hands on his wrist. Panic gripped him again, the wild thought that she would snap the joint flashing through his mind before he relaxed. 

“I’m sorry too.” Alastor’s world tilted as The Mare spoke, not in a sweet voice like she had in his dream but in a dry, awful crackling thing that had never once spoke in human tongue.

It was the most beautiful voice Alastor had ever heard.

And then she used his momentary confusion to stand, arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed against him, nuzzling her nose against his and trilling low in her throat. 

He found his wits and hugged her back, pressing himself into her neck as he felt something wrack through him. Her fingers trailed along his shoulders, mindlessly teasing the skin and muscle as he held her, content to be in his arms for as long as he needed.

He’d keep her there forever if he could. But alas…

“Alright my dear,” he slowly released her and allowed himself to take a step back. “Before we continue, let me set some ground rules so that we don’t get into this situation again.” The Mare nodded and plopped back down on the bed, leaning back on her elbows as she watched Alastor begin to pace.

“Despite my body’s…reactions to your new form, ignore it. I am not fond of sex and do not care to satisfy the odd urge I get for it here and there. If we ignore it enough it will eventually go away.” The Mare nodded and crossed her finger over her heart.

“And no touching me--ah, no. No touching each other in ways that people would deem intimate.” He paused and reconsidered his wording, “I mean below the belt. Hugging is fine, your little mare ways are fine. I would be remiss if I said I didn’t enjoy them no matter what form you take.”

She tilted her head, smirking devilishly before she made a little kissy noise. Alastor felt his cheeks redden and he hastily looked away. “That was a spur of the moment thing. The lips. Cheeks are fine. People kiss on the cheek all the time.” 

He would ignore the sudden widening of that smile, the way those dratted canines glimmered in the morning sun. “We can’t do anything that a couple would do! There, does that satisfy you, you little minx?” He sounded petulant, even going so far as to stomp his foot a little but her smile did not waver.

“You foul thing.” There was no heat in his voice as he reached out to pull her off the bed, her hand grasping his gently as he pulled her close again. “Now let’s get you dressed, my coffee made and out to the woods.”

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It was all a breeze after that. As long as Alastor ignored The Mare’s complete disregard for nudity when she started changing right in front of him. His small speech on modesty appearing to have fallen on deaf ears even as she side-eyed him before grabbing her things and marching into the bathroom with a huff. 

Progress.

His coffee? In the thermos. His fishing rod? Freshly repaired last week and in the car. Bait box? Empty but in the car. Breakfast? Eh, he’ll get something near the bait shop. Rope? Oh, check and double check. His Mare? Currently, sat in front of him as he carefully pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. He had no idea if it would stay if she transformed out there but he saw the discarded ribbon on the counter and couldn’t help himself. 

Her hair was just as silky as her coat had been, the strands falling like water through his fingers even as the thick strands coiled around them, seemingly catching upon them for a moment before relaxing and falling away. She looked darling when he was finished, her ponytail high and soft wispy curls framing that thin face, softening her emaciated features, giving him a glimpse of what she would look like when she got her fill.

She should have chosen an uglier form. Ugh.

Still, the cool morning air was a blessing as they drove. Alastor kept his hand out the window, his morning cigarette burning in the wind as they left the paved road and headed into the woods. His Mare was beside him, arms and head out the window as she rested on the door, breathing deeply the rapidly warming air and sighing happily. He took another deep drag of his cigarette as he watched her from the corner of his eye, swearing that he could hear a deep purr under the thrum of the car’s motor.

He resisted the urge to place a hand upon her thigh, instead reaching out and running a hand down her spine instead after discarding his bud, laughing when she arched into it in surprise. Silly thing, poking her tongue out at him before dreamily returning to the window.

They arrived at the cabin just an hour later. It was a modest building, the only worthwhile thing left to him from his father. He said so to his Mare as they walked up to it. “I spent most of my summers out here with him. Fishing, hunting, rebuilding. We added the second room, you know? It was just a one-room shack when he brought me here. He added the bedroom when he got tired of hearing me cry after a beating.”

The Mare paused at the top of the porch steps, face pulled into a frown as she picked at a piece of splintering wood. Alastor propped open the screen and waved her in. “No need to be upset about it dear. It was a long time ago. He served his purpose in my life and he got the death he deserved, shitting his life away in a trench somewhere overseas. A shame I never got drafted myself. I would have put a knife in his back the moment I got the chance. Ah well.”

Reneé Boudreaux was in theory, a stand up man when he met Alastor’s mother; a Master Sergeant and excellent marksman who wooed his voodoo woman with his sweet words and love for dance. But alcohol had turned him into a mean and violent drunk with a swift back hand that did not discriminate between frightened woman and a five-year old child. He often took Alastor out hunting, trying to make a man out of him and carve out any softness he found in his child, throwing tantrums when Claudette showed him how to sew, cook, clean or anything else deemed ‘womanly pursuits’. 

It served Alastor well enough. He was an ace marksman himself now, a hunter and tracksman who came home with a kill more often than not. His fishing and trapping was decent enough to keep his and his momma’s bellies fed during hard years though he now had a slight disinclination towards crawdads. 

His father was also a decent woodsmith. He probably should have pursued that but the military money was too good. He forced Alastor to carve and whittle and sand the days away when they weren’t hunting. They repaired the old cabin, replaced the wrap-around porch, added the bedroom and replaced the roof as needed. Alastor hated every moment of it but it was worth the misery to keep this quiet little part of Eden in tip-top shape.

The inside of the cabin was cozy enough. A small loveseat and rocking chair huddled around a small table and fireplace, handmade by Alastor’s grandfather if he believed his father. His father’s trophies were gone, sold the moment Alastor got the letter he died but now his own decorated the walls. 

His Mare wandered about slowly, eyes wide as she admired his work. A gentle caress to the bear’s teeth, a touch of her nose to the 10-point buck’s snout, a satisfactory pat to the cougar rug. She leered at the teeth and bones on display, tracing a gator’s tooth and snapping her own jaw as she moved on. She politely traced the feathers and bones of the fetishes that lined the walls and her claws found the vevé that kept this place hidden from wandering souls.

She whirled around suddenly, startling Alastor as he was removing the dust covers from the kitchen and making him breath in the dust, coughing harshly as she skipped towards him. She waited politely, head tilted for him to regain composure before shoving her notepad in his face. He squinted at it, the dust on his glasses mucking his vision.

‘I like it.’

“Glad you do, darling.” He sniffed and took his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. “You can speak, can’t you? Why continue with the paper?” He totally wasn’t interested in hearing her awful siren voice again.

Which was great because she just shrugged. 

“That’s not an answer.” A roll of the eyes and his Mare was off exploring again, pointedly dragging a finger through the cobwebs in the corners. Gods he’d only been gone two months and the bugs have made themselves cozy. “Seriously my dear, we should find a better way to communicate. There’s a hand language the deaf use, maybe we can find a tutor for us, eh?”

What he wouldn’t give to hear her thoughts, to see her ramble and ramble and explore the twisted ways in which her alien mind worked. 

She surprised him again when she turned from her corner, hands flying in complicated gestures and her lips forming the words she would not speak. “I can...use it.”

He was gobsmacked. “What--how do you know that!?”

Her lips formed the words again, slowly so he could read them better. What a terrible time to find out he was astonishingly bad at reading lips. “Fed…someone…knew…I know all the…my prey does…”

Fuck him. She was so otherworldly. “I see, I think. Well that does put me at the disadvantage, doesn’t it? I suppose I will look for lessons myself.”

“See that you do.” A smirk and Alastor felt his heart swooping at her light teasing. Of course that was the sentence he had no problem with.

“I always see my plans through dear. Now! Make yourself useful and help me chase away the spiders and whatever else crawled through here.” He took a few steps forward to kick at the small ottoman, sending a large spider scurrying under the couch. He cursed under his breath, mumbling about needing to plant mint and lemon grass. Beside him The Mare tilted her head curiously, eyes closing before thrumming out her power, ice-cold fear piercing Alastor’s chest and causing him to scramble back a few steps before his senses came back.

“What was that for--oh?” His quick anger at being scared so easily disappeared as quickly as it came as he watched the hidden critters scramble from their hiding places, desperate to escape the tranquil woman standing in the middle of the room. 

“Well, aren’t you useful? Add exterminator to your résumé darling.” Damn if that didn’t save him hours of work. “Would you mind getting those cobwebs then? I’ve got some mint oil to spread around that’ll keep the rest of the beasties gone while we’re out.” She huffed in response, rolling her eyes but obediently taking the duster he handed her. 

He wanted to ignore her petulant message on the counter. ‘I am not a maid.’

“Indeed you’re not." Ah, he was weak. "Now hurry up and let’s get this done. I would like a clean place to sleep in tonight.” A snort and she obediently went about like the world’s most irritable maid.

“The faster we do this, the faster I can show you The Shed,” he teased. She gave no response but to click her tongue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Shed was at the back of the small clearing, just visible from the bedroom window. It was nothing special on the outside: just a single wooden room with a raised roof and walls covered in creeper to help keep it out of sight.

But that wasn’t what was important. 

Oh no. It was the inside that Alastor was excited to show off.

Ever the showman as he practically skipped inside, his smile stretched wide, a manic gleam  in his eye as he unlocked the door (3 locks, all different keys) and pulled The Mare by her wrist inside. 

“Welcome, my dear Nightmare, to where I make my magic!” He spun around, arms wide as he giggled. “Where I take my precious victims and make beautiful music with their screams and feed their souls to my gods. Where I inflict retribution for their crimes, their unholy sins against the weak and fair, and bring them down to where they belong.”

He backed up to stand in the blood stained dirt, “At my feet.” He bowed, swinging low for extra dramatic effect before standing up to hook his thumbs in his suspenders. “What do you think?”

Silence as The Mare looked around, her feet eerily quiet on the ground as she cocked her head to and fro, peering into the dark corners of the The Shed. Alastor kept his cocky grin on his face, forcing his quickly waning confidence to stay exactly where it was. Beneath him, his spirits broke free from his shadow, flitting uncontained within the sacred space and rattling the instruments on the wall.

He watched them tease and pull at The Mare’s dress, urging her to look at the knives, the mallets and the scalpels. One dangled a length of rope from the rafter, teasing her hair with it before demonstrating how it was used to strung up a victim by their neck, their feet never fully leaving the ground so that they just strangled slowly. Another rattled the rusted toolbox, picking up its favorite pick that still had its previous victim’s brain on it. Another waved its arms frantically around the unused meat-grinder, bought when Alastor could not resist a good sale, his mind reeling with the possibilities for it.

They showed her the bucket he once used to try out rat torture, and the simple rack he used to rip a mans limbs from his sockets. They brought her a pear of anguish he’d used once and broke and had to cut the man’s jaw open to get it out. The garden shears he used to cut tongues, ears, and fingers; the nails he drove into soft and pliant flesh; the heretic’s fork he liked to use when a man woke up too early, taking his time to sharpen his knives as the man struggled not to impale himself.

There was the whip, there was the bat, and the tire iron. The brass knuckles and the garrote. And his favorite: the heavy iron hook just above Alastor’s head where he strung up most of his victims so he could cut away at their flesh and play with their insides.

She looked at all of it, her eyes subtly glowing in the dim light as she touched every tool he had ever used. Her breathing was faster now, visibly more human-like as she opened her mouth to pant ever so slightly. Alastor felt the accursed stirring in his loins again as she took another length of rope from the antlered spirit, the one who favored her heavily and liked to play in her shadow when it thought Alastor wasn’t looking.

She twirled it, wrapping it around her hands, playing with the virgin hemp as she approached Alastor. He stood still, face aching with his smile as she stood before him. He let her wrap it around his left wrist, her fingers just barely ghosting against his skin as she circled it three times before tugging both wrists down between them. He offered the right wrist, relaxing into her hold and turning it up as she tied it to the other, creating a loose knot between them.

Alastor’s heart was racing, his breath coming in fluttering gasps as she admired her handiwork. A good tug demonstrated that though the knot was simple, it would hold. 

He was weak when she looked at him, her cheeks flushed and pupils blown as she glanced up beyond him to the hook above. And damn his spirits for their obeisance to her, their giggling as they lowered the hook just enough that The Mare had to stand on her tip-toes to loop his bindings over it. Alarm bells went off in his head, that small part of him that was still afraid of this eldritch creature, this hunter of man who smiled so demurely at him as she motioned for his own spirits to lift him up, just enough that his heels lifted and nothing more. Just enough to give the illusion that he could not break free.

He praised whichever one of them gave her the knife she now traced gently along his throat, the tip catching on his collar bone and drawing a small drop of blood. Something so insignificant, so nominal that at any other time he wouldn’t have even noticed the cut until he found the blood on his shirt later in the night. And yet the moment the blade touched her tongue, his own blood disappearing into that dread mouth with a satisfied hum…

The sound that escaped his throat was embarrassing. His body seizing with pent up arousal and spending itself inside his trousers. He panted harshly, giggling deliriously as his Mare backed up in surprise, true shock and embarrassment painting her own features as she tossed the knife aside and frantically motioned for his spirits to let him down.

She caught him easily, her arms strong under his own as she lowered them to their knees. And gods, wasn’t she a sight? Her lips frantically forming ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’ in a whisper as she struggled to keep him upright with as little physical contact as possible. She was so panicked, so embarrassed, and so, so beautiful that Alastor felt the urge to kiss her again despite their early morning talk.

So he did so again. Hands cupped around her jaw and neck as he pressed his lips against her own, stopping their frantic movements as she stiffened and then relaxed into the touch. Her lips were soft, pliant against Alastor’s own dry ones as he pressed harder against her, his movements clumsy with inexperience as he guided them through a series of frantic kisses, slowing down to lazily move his mouth against her as his own heart rate slowed, steadied and finally: he pulled away.

“Well,” his voice caught, throat dry before he coughed a little to clear it. “I certainly learned something about myself today. Apologies dear one, we shall have to avoid torturing one another, hmm? Leave it for the filth of New Orleans, shall we?” 

He wanted to let her do it again. To go farther. To fully string him up and cut into his flesh, to trace her own designs into his skin and lick the dripping blood from him. He wanted her to bite him, to feel her claws sink into his chest and her tongue in his mouth. He wanted to cry out in blissful agony, spill into her waiting hands and cry with the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

Gods he was weak. Not four hours had passed since his morning freak out and established new rules and he was already breaking them. For once in his murdering career he needed to get the fuck out of this shed.

“Let me go clean myself up and we’ll head out to the water. I need to catch lunch and you should exercise those wings.” Yes, that was what he needed. At least catching something also meant killing it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was strong, reflecting off the water and nearly blinding Alastor when he looked too far off into the horizon. He removed his hat, using it to fan himself a moment before he sat it down to remove his shirt, sick of the sweat plastering it to his skin. He sighed in relief as he tossed it aside to join The Mare’s clothes, discarded in the boat when she turned into a small cat and disappeared into the underbrush.

She’d been gone for hours without a single peep, leaving Alastor to pull the small boat into the water himself. It was fine. It was no careful dissection or strangling of a throat but fishing was calming enough for him after their tryst. He just put his hat back on, loaded his hook with fresh bait and leaned back to enjoy the sounds of nature around him, mind wandering to how’d he lure Gregory McDowell out of his apartment.

Would he invite the man out to drink? No, he barely spoke to the thing. Maybe he’d risk sneaking into the apartment? And risk being seen as he climbed the three stories to get into the window? Stupid. Maybe he could get him on the way home from work? Gregory worked after hours, when most of the radio staff was out. He could stay late one day, play at catching up on the letters he received for the advice portion of his show (which was unfortunately, piling up) and catch Gregory alone. A little chloroform in the hallway, a stab of tranquilizer in the neck, a coffee pot to the back of the head, the options were endless so long as he got the man into his car.

Into the car. Out to the cabin. He’d have a good two hours to string the man up, let him awaken on his own to Alastor calmly sharpening his knives. He’d tell Gregory, or Greg if he consented, that he was being exceptionally kind in making them sharp. A dull knife prolongs Alastor’s fun and makes the next few hours of torture even more sublime but he finds he doesn’t like the jagged edges it creates in the flesh.

And then the screaming would start. Ah, such sweet music that he would silence with his fists, pounding his frustration into this piece of shit’s face just like it did to its wife. He’d stop when a few teeth fell out. Or when his knuckles split. Whichever came first.

And then he’d cut. Maybe he’d flay the man. Or maybe his excitement would get a hold of him and he’d start immediately with organ removal, showing Greg each and every inch of the very same intestine that Alastor would sell to the violin shop in town for string. And maybe…if the liver was good he could…no, no no no. He hadn’t crossed that line yet. Licking a little blood spatter here and there was fine enough but he’d never taken a bite.

Not yet.

The urge was always there though. The curiosity of making human leather. Of making a jerky. Of grinding a victim up and using their own intestine as sausage casing. Of tearing into a heart whole, maybe even getting to feel it flutter against his tongue as he ripped it out with his teeth.

Fuck, he was getting hard again just thinking about it.

Above him, an otherworldly screech sounded. High and shrill and almost sounding as if it came from dozens and not the single flying creature lazily doing loop-de-loops above the treeline. Thoughts of murder were immediately abandoned as he watched his Mare soar, her great wings extended to their full length as she glided in circles around Alastor’s little boat.

She was glorious. A shiny black mare-like void in the bright blue of the sky, a living shadow as she flapped lazily. If he looked closely Alastor could see the slight tremor in her previously broken wing, proof she still needed to feed a bit more to replace the lost muscle. But still, here was a tantalizing preview of her in all her glory, a great demon of the sky who could easily hunt her prey down and tackle them in a flurry of tooth and claw.

Alastor whistled to her, fingers in his mouth and his other hand waving his hat. She answered him with a whinny, swooping down low enough to skim her wing along the water as she banked left around him, hitting him with the spray before she dived in and disappeared from sight. He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from his throat as her eyes and nose surfaced, the Mare swimming towards him like a swamp kelpie, her hair spreading out like an ink spill as she circled the boat.

“Aren’t you scared of the gators, dear?” He leaned over the edge of the boat and met her lifted wet muzzle with a touch of his nose. “I’d hate to see you bit by one.” 

She nickered softly before turning into a great black alligator, bellowing loudly into the water and rocking the boat with the ripples. Pleased with Alastor’s resulting laughter, she crawled into the boat, head and limbs shifting into their human shape as she emerged.

Alastor politely looked away, afraid of his body’s reaction to seeing her wet and glistening in the midday sun. He waited for her to put her clothes on, fingers tapping rhythmically against his knees as he waited for the telltale sound of rustling clothes.

It did not come.

Instead, the rustle he heard was that of wings unfurling. His head whipped around immediately, keen to see the great leathery things as they extended from the back of the very naked woman currently resting against the bow. 

She was sunning. Like a morbid bird of prey with her wings fully outstretched, the ends of them dipped into the water without fear of gator or catfish grabbing them. Her back was to him, the lines of the new wing muscles tantalizing as she moved her arms to cross them under her chin. 

Something broke in Alastor then. Something he could not name but felt all the same. Here she was, his great Nightmare naked and bare before him, her back to him and her precious wings exposed. Her eyes closed as she rested on her arms, her slow breathing steady and calm as she very obviously began to doze.

Gone were the days where she watched his every move like a hawk. Where she bared her teeth when he moved too fast and bit her frustrations at him when she could not sink her teeth into his flesh. There was no tail whipping in agitation, no flashing red-glare of anger in her eyes, no tightness in her mouth as she struggled against her base urge to attack him.

There was only a man and his Mare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Oof, I’m not gonna lie guys. The whole scene after Al wakes up was a fucking STRUGGLE. Took me days to work it out and I debated scraping it or just skipping it and coming back later. It’s still not quite what I envisioned on the long commute into work but I’m finally happy enough with it.

Also, had an Ado and Babymetal concert this last week and I just want to scream about how amazing they were ommggggg!!!!!!!

But she would not forget this.

The way saliva pooled in her mouth at the first copper tang of blood in the air. How her hackles rose as the first true scream tore through the humid air of the little shed at the back of the property.

How her sweet Alastor laughed along with his victim's cries, high and shrill and fully devoid of any pity as he pressed the small blade just far enough into the skin to make it bleed but not so deep that his prey was in danger of dying…yet.

He'd only removed a few inches of skin, carefully slicing into the pallid flesh and pulling it up until he could sink a finger behind it. He'd wait then, cooing softly at his prey like he was calming a frightened kitten, waiting patiently until its screams became whimpers and it could look him in the eye again. Then he began to pull, carefully slicing at the taught flesh as he flayed it away.

Over and over and over until the whole right side of his victim's chest was red and leaking and stinging from every puff of air Alastor breathed upon it. She gave the victim its credit though, it had yet to pass out.

Yet.

Unfortunately for it, Alastor was unhappy with the blood loss. He had grimaced as he pulled the last bit of skin free, eyes following the pooling blood at his victim's feet and sighing in a way that promised something horrible was coming. His victim's breath of relief as he stepped away was short lived as Alastor picked up something else from the darkened corners of his workbench.

She didn't recognize it at first; a large metal contraption with a handle and large bulbous tank that seemed heavy in even Alastor's hands. And then he lit it and she recognized the sight and smell of a fire, a blow torch her mind supplied, a recently new style that one of her own previous victims must have coveted.

The begging and crying started up again as Gregory McDowell realized what was about to happen to him. She herself had never been a fan of cooked meat, she much preferred the sharp iron tang of bloody flesh and the way it stretched and tore between her teeth and gave away with a satisfying 'slap'. Cooked meat was tough, bloodless and lacked the elasticity. But she did appreciate the way it smelled and she breathed deep the savory scent of it, lips lifting and nostrils flaring as the flames touched exposed muscle.

The screams were exquisite, hoarse and high and throat rending before it finally passed out from the combination of shock and lack of oxygen. Alastor 'tsk'd and turned off the torch, one hand on his cocked hip as he rolled his eyes. "It's quite rude to pass out before the main event," he chided. "Ah well, a show is still a show isn't it, my dear?"

She nickered in reply, a low soft thing usually reserved for a mare speaking her first words to her foal. She could not help it. Her fondness for this skinny human was astounding, overwhelming and she was so, so enamored with the way he played with the agony of his prey. How his long fingers toyed with his knife as he began again, working the flesh off and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder as he moved faster now that his victim was passed out. It would awaken again, already she could feel the stirrings of its mind as the pain called it back to the waking world and she felt her own heart racing as Alastor worked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quiet.

For the second time this week his mind was quiet. Blissfully silent as he worked towards the only true thought he was able to hold onto.

The heart.

He wanted The Heart.

He wanted to peel away the pericardium and see Gregory's heart beating and spasming as it struggled to keep him alive through the pain, the fear…the blood loss.

He wanted to hold the struggling organ in his hand, to feel the glossy weight of it as it throbbed between his fingers. He wanted to feel the rush of blood through the arteries and the squelch of the muscle pressing against his sensitive fingertips.

He wanted to pry it out and watch how far the blood would spill, how far the final arch of blood could reach before he felt the last beat in his palm. He wanted to present it to his Mare. He would offer her this man's heart in lieu of his own, a small placeholder until his time came and she could carve his out herself.

He wanted to partake in it. To feel the sinew stretch and give between his teeth as the blood within began to cool and coagulate. He wanted to watch as She tore it apart, sharp teeth slicing through the tough muscle as easy as his blade was currently slicing though the last bit of skin on Gregory's rib cage and exposing the muscle beneath.

He barely heard the screams as he casually cauterized the wounds, just enough to stop most of the bleeding. There was no point in fully stopping it. Do you know how hard it is to cut through burnt meat? No, he simply did not have the time.

Gregory did not have the time.

They were racing the shock and blood loss now. The cauterization would only help so much when he began cutting into the muscle to expose the bone underneath.

Alastor paused when he was finished and gave Gregory a chummy pat on the cheek, whistling happily as he left him to hang and catch his breath for what would come next. He needed to make sure everything was within reach. He could only imagine how quickly his precious minutes would pass and he did not want to waste a single second of them walking to and fro from his work bench.

Bone knife? Check.

Shears? Hidden under the workbench and a little rusty but still sharp and now laying at the feet of his guest.

He licked his lips and idly fingered a small, curved blade. It would fit snuggly against his fingers, a razor sharp claw with which to reach around and behind the heart and free it from its veins and arteries.

He tucked both knives into his belt and continued his whistling as he prowled around towards the back side of his prey, a stray thought about how to keep his prey still now strengthening and clambering around his mind, hooking itself into his skull and rattling his brain as the thoughts of 'PARALYZE HIM PARALYZE HIM PARALYZE HIM' ran rampant.

He always did have his best ideas in the field.

He removed the little knife from his belt, flipping it casually as he once again circled around to Gregory's front. Normally he'd have a little quip to offer, a sarcastic comment about how Gregory was just 'laying around' and 'all tied up' heehee hawhaw, but his wit was GONE and he found that it would take more energy than he dared spare to even speak.

Not that he needed to speak to have Gregory absolutely losing his marbles. One sullen look from Alastor, his eyes dark and low as he tilted his head down to look up at his prey from beneath his lashes and Gregory was babbling.

"…P-please I-I-I c-can't I can't I can't it hurts ithurts ithurts pleasepleasepleaseplease…"

And on and on and on until it is all just white noise in the background of the singular thought that has now filled Alastor's mind, the cacophony of his spirits' wills echoing in the blissful emptiness of his head as he began to move around towards the back of his prey again.

Towards his spine.

More babbling as Gregory tried to keep Alastor in his line of sight, twisting on his tiptoes as his head turns towards the abnormally silent man who at any other time was seemingly incapable of shutting up. Alastor stops his turning, a hand harshly pushing him the other way and causing Gregory to loose his balance, a high pitch yip erupting from his throat as all his weight is suddenly pulling at his shoulders.

Alastor does chuckle at that, a low and dark sound as he stops walking and playfully runs the tip of his blade along Gregory's spine, the tip skipping along each vertebrae and leaving small red scratches as it moves up and down. There is more unseemly scrambling as Gregory manages to get back upon his toes, heaving and panting as the pressure upon his sore chest eases for the moment and he can focus on standing.

It's a hard thing to paralyze something. There's less room than one would think to slip a blade between vertebrae and it's even harder to feel it. One could get the knife caught in the bone, shimmying loose a piece of marrow that might travel to a person's heart and stop it. One could slide right off and accidentally stab into the intestines, the kidneys, hell any organ was game depending on where you tried to place the knife.

Lucky for dear Gregory that Alastor had been practicing this move on the last few victims! Alive or dead it did not matter! He just needed to stabilize, find the spot and—-!

"I knew you were a fucking faggot," the strength of Gregory's voice nearly startles Alastor into letting his hip go. "Makes sense now, how you got your job. You're just the boss' little bitch boy, ain't ya?"

Alastor rolled his eyes and shifted from holding his prey's hip to looping two long fingers in the back of its belt. Quite a visceral reaction to being held still but not the first time Alastor was accused of being something he wasn't just because he didn't whore himself out every weekend. More disturbing was the insinuation that he had to sleep with the station owner to get his job as if he didn't slave every moment he could proving himself more hard-working, dedicated, and better than his white colleagues.

Ah, well.

His blade sank into flesh, hitched, then sank deeper into bone and oh, how Gregory sang! The type of screaming that tore the throat, causing one to heave and hack on their own blood, unable to breathe as their body and mind struggled to comprehend what just happened.

Legs gone limp. The cold from blood-soaked jeans now a fading memory. More pain in the shoulders and wrists, something popping and another jolt of pain as more permanent weight was thrust upon them. The panic as the initial pain fades away and how now there is nothing below the waist and there is nothing to tell you the limbs are there besides your own eyes, wide and disbelieving as cold, harsh reality sinks in.

"Beautiful." Alastor sighs dreamily as he slowly paces around to Gregory's front, the blade left buried deep within his back. More cursing and name calling, some quite creative Alastor must confess, and Gregory is back to hiding his fear behind anger, rage.

Alastor's fingers slowly grasp the other blade at his waist and there is less anger and more sobs.

He feels his smile widen, chapped lips threatening to crack as the mania really settles in.

Spirits tugging at his pant legs and the subtle tightening of them as the blade once again connects with pliant flesh, muscle slipping away from bone as piece by piece it is exposed.

The tingling in the back of one's mind, something is behind him as he cuts. Curious, entranced…hungry. Different screams now. Not of pain but of fear and incomprehension as unbelieving eyes struggle to understand the horror that has stepped out of the shadows.

Alastor feels himself shushing his prey, cooing softly and clicking his tongue, voice low as he tried to tell it that she's a friend. She won't hurt you, that's his job! It will be okay, shhh shh shh, alllll okay just hush and stay still, almost done.

Less struggling now as the adrenaline rush is replaced by exhaustion. The screaming has dulled down to whimpers and sobs. Lost prayers to God that will never find their way home. Pleas of mercy that his gods will consume. A final half-assed apology to a woman that never did anything to him but be a "perfect" wife and that he'd never hit her again if God would only save him.

Well, that just won't do!

He tosses the knife and reaches down without looking to the shears at his feet.

SNIP! SNIP!

Oops! There goes the first rib! And ah! There's more of that beautiful screaming and Alastor is suddenly in shadow as something looms over him.

SNIP! SNIP!

Another cut out and he can feel the warmth of the creature at his back, head swaying above his as it observed his work.

SNIP! SNIP!

More tired screaming as the prey's head begins to loll back and Alastor can feel as well as hear the pleased growling behind his head, sharp claws flexing in his periphery as he and his prey are nearly enclosed by the black mare behind them.

SNIP! SNIP!

Fuck, was the hole big enough yet? Shaky hands flittered around the gaping wound, thumping heart almost exposed and so, so much blood the smell of it was going to linger on him for days.

SNIP! SNIP!

This would have to do. The bag of flesh that was once Gregory McDowell was deathly pale, lungs beginning to slow even as the heart within began to beat faster. He threw the shears aside, uncaring as he reached out to shove the lung aside only to be stopped just as his fingers brushed the warm organ.

The presence at his side was no weaker despite the smaller size, bony fingers wrapped around his wrist and a sting of pain as five talons pricked at his skin. Ringing in his ears as he glanced down at the woman beside him, pressed against his back with her other arm around his waist, eyes unblinking and focused at the prize in front of them.

He let her hand cover his, forcing them into a point, her unnaturally long index finger guiding his, a talon acting as his own personal blade. Together they cut along the pericardium, fully exposing that beautiful heart that was already slowing. Her hand guided his, opening his palm and gently…Oh, so gently, placing it under the heart.

It was just as depraved as Alastor knew it would be. The warmth of it. The strength. It was surreal to have, after so many fucking tries, a heart beat against his palm. He knew his breathing stopped, desperate in any way he could to lengthen this moment, to spend an eternity watching the meat of his palm be pushed aside by the strength of the heart beat; to feel the caress of his Mare's fingers as she brushed past his fingertips to swipe her claws through arteries and veins and finally the aorta; to feel the sudden weight of the heart, free from the confines of the chest, as it falls into his hand.

There's blood everywhere, the warmth of it soaking into his hair and dripping down the exposed skin of his Mare, her red eyes sparkling beneath the splat of red across her face as it drips down, down, down. More warmth that has nothing to do with the blood spreads through his body, breath shallow as he feels his skin burn as he turns to bring the heart between them.

It twitches once, twice valiantly and stills. A pink tongue wets the most perfect lips he has ever seen as those earnest eyes hold him in place, her fingers pressed against his and pushing the heart towards his mouth.

He knows what she means to do. He's been resisting it for months on his own. Ignoring the extra saliva in his mouth or the way his mind is fixating on how it would finally feel to tear into human flesh.

But he could never ignore her. Not the way her pupils dilate as the first brush of the heart against his lips left them coated in quickly cooling blood. Not the way she bit at her lower lip, sharp teeth threatening to break the skin. Not the way her bare chest heaves against him, her excitement palpable as each breath shakes against him. Not the way her lips part with his, that soft moan louder then any scream he heard tonight as his body responded.

He bit hard, hands flying up to stabilize the heart against his mouth; teeth not made for rending raw flesh slipping and tearing against the tough muscle. The hot feel of blood gushing into his throat, running down his neck and plastering his shirt to his skin and the tightness in his pants becoming irritating as he hunched over to tear the piece of heart off.

It was just as decadent as he dreamed and this time the loud moan that seemed to shake the shed was his own. Tough. Chewy. Fuck it was good!

Almost as good as watching his Mare go next, her teeth cutting through the other side of the heart with a lack of resistance Alastor immediately resented. More blood covered her, dripping down her arms and the backs of her hand as she wiped it away from her mouth, eyes closed in bliss as for the first time since he had known her, the Mare ate.

And then she looked up at him.

Throat bobbing as she swallowed.

Eyes dazed and lips pouting, face begging for him to do it. To brush the heart aside, no longer giving two shits as it falls to the ground for his lips are on hers.

Wet.

Desperate.

Copper coated and so perfect, perfect, perfect.

Alastor's hands grab her face, fingers sinking into her hair and tugging her down, down, down onto the ground. The feel of her hands scraping down the nape of his neck, across his shoulders and down his chest before trailing under his arms to grasp at the back of his shirt. The feeling of her pressed against him, completely naked and wet and sticky with drying blood, the buck of her hips against his the perfect friction he needs to finally give in.

She moans beautifully as he trails down her neck, teeth teasing and nipping the strong pulse he finds there. Lips attaching to thin skin and sucking hard as his Mare writhes beneath him. His hands don't know where to go, eager to touch everything all at once. His nose follows, teasing along her skin, tongue reaching out to lap and nip at whatever he could reach, lips suctioning around her peaked nipple until she cried out and tugged at his hair, pulling him off with a soft 'pop' and pulling him back up to kiss her.

Her tongue swallowed his, long and forked as it moved around his mouth, pressing deep and daring to gag him before he grabbed her throat. She gave in, instantly folding with a wanton moan, claws tearing into his clothes, desperate to touch the warm flesh beneath. He let her buck against him, wet cunt positively soaking the tent in his pants, teasing the cockhead beneath as he leaned forward to kiss her, sensual and slow, his tongue diving deep and nicking himself on her sharp teeth, shuddering as she swallowed every drop of blood he gave her.

She positively whimpers when he pulls his hips away and he soothes her, rubbing his nose against hers and letting up just a little on the grip he has around her neck. His fingers dance down her hips, twirling and tugging at the coarse hair between her thighs, teasing her with pain and letting those desperate hips have nothing.

He can almost heart it, the whispers from her throat of, "Please, please, please—!" as she struggles against his grip. She can of course, free herself at any time so he must reward her for being such a good girl and taking it.

He shifts his leg to force hers apart and instantly Alastor can smell the want of her, how desperate she is to have him touch her. And as he sank the first finger in he wondered how he ever denied this.

The absolutely whorish moan that ripped out of her throat that caused his cock to pulse so hard he saw stars.

The delicate arch of her body as her back bowed at the intrusion, pressing hard against his knuckles as she took the finger all the way down.

It was exquisite when he moved, her eyes widening almost comically before they drifted shut, head lolling with each thrust as she moved against him, positively humping his hand.

The second slipped in easily, punctuated with another wanton moan that had Alastor feeling dizzy. Her leg had lifted at the intrusion, bucking up against his leaking cock and giving him something to rut against as he thrust harder against her. She met each thrust perfectly, bouncing with such vigor that for a moment he thought he must already be inside her.

Soon soon soon.

The third took a little more effort, her hips slowing as he teased it around her stretched entrance, the hand at her throat moving to slip under her shoulders, pressing her close and distracting her with his lips. The press of his thumb against her clit had her jolting underneath him, her thigh pressing deliciously against him as he shifted to tower half over her to better angle his hand, fingers squelching as he pumped them in and out, and in, and in, and in, and in until she was gasping at the third finger sinking in.

"A-alastor!"

Shit.

He could almost cum like this. To just the sight of his Mare lost in bliss beneath him, her hips bouncing off his fingers and that delicate throat exposed to the sharp nips of his teeth and purpling hickies that he can't believe he's excited to create.

But that's not what he wants.

He wants to feel her.

Two pairs of hands grab at his pants, his own shaking and wet as he struggles to undo the belt. The Mare's tear at the fabric beneath, palm pressing harshly against the damp patch spread across his crotch as they both rip off only what they need.

The weight of his cock slapping against the warmth of her cunt has his vision blacking out, cursing under his breath as they glide together, the mixture of his leaking precum and her juices making the best fucking thing he's heard all week. The shlickshlickshlick was better than he dared to ever imagine, warm as he caught against her stretched hole, slipping in just enough to have them both moaning, Alastor's face pressed into her neck as he kissed and sucked and rolled his hips against her.

Both his hands lifted her thighs up to hook over his shoulders, her body bent in half as he pressed her into the ground. "You want this, yeah?" Fuck, he doesn't even sound like himself, his native accent coming off strong and slurred with lust, his breath panting like he's ran miles.

And she nods and nods and nods, trying her best to get him to slip in again. Tempting him with that velvet cunt.

His velvet cunt.

He kisses her as he presses in, thumbs spreading apart her lower lips and fuck, she was tight! He shudders as she gasps beneath him, body bucking around him as she struggles to stay still, each roll of her hips punctuated by a little moan until his pelvis presses against her ass. He manages to hold her still, distracting her with words of praise against her lips: "his good girl, ma petite mort, taking him so well…"

It's dizzying inside her. It's easily the best fucking thing Alastor's ever felt. The throbbing of her sinfully hot cunt, squeezing him and sucking him in as she tried her best to thrust against him. A mental note to let her be on top next time.

Because there would be a next time.

They moan in tandem as Alastor pulls out, his voice gaining octaves as he feels so fucking hot all over, his skin pricking and mind so fucking foggy it's limited to only 'in and out' over and over. It feels so fucking good and he feels his balls tighten as he thrusts, the slap of them against her skin mesmerizing as he pulls out half-way before slamming into her again and again and again and again until he cums earlier than he expected.

It's embarrassing.

He's a two pump chump but frankly, he doesn't give a fuck.

It felt so fucking good to spill inside her, cock still half hard as his eyes nearly cross while he continues to fuck her, his cum leaking out and foaming around where they are joined. She is so fucking pretty taking him, stretched tight around him and so, so wet and delectable as he slips out and a fresh gush of their mixed fluids oozes out of her, slipping down her exposed holes and disappearing along her back. She was so beautiful covered in sweat and blood and his cum his cum his—

Her fingers fly to her own cunt, desperately rubbing at her stiffened clit and moaning loudly as she struggles to chase the high she did not get.

Well that just won't do! Alastor was a gentleman after all.

She startled when he shifted her, dropping her hips to the ground and following them down as she struggled to sit up, confusion singing in her throat as she struggled to understand what he was doing.

The first swipe of his tongue across her pussy had her breath hitching.

The second had her moaning, shaky and drawn out as her arms began to tremble.

The suck on her clit had her lost, falling upon her back with one hand tangled in his hair and the other in her own. Her moans primal as she moved against his mouth, torn between holding his head still and rutting against him or simply holding herself against him, urging his tongue to reach deep, his hand reaching between them to slip his fingers inside.

He pulled away, dazed as he watched his three fingers disappear inside her; his cum slipping out with each thrust and oh no, no! That just won't do!

He dives back in, tongue desperately trying to force his cum back in even as his fingers push it back out. Each thrust has his Mare moaning, throat ragged as each sound of pleasure is ripped out of her, her body positively aching and clutching around his fingers.

She had to be close. Her hips had lost their rhythm, rutting mindlessly between his fingers and mouth suckling her clit, making her thighs tighten around his head, both hands tugging on her hair as her breath catches.

Alastor swears he nearly cums again as she arches against him with a sob, a desperate cry of his name as the clit pressed against his tongue throbs in time to the beating of his own heart. His fingers are positively soaked, dripping as he slips them out of her. He sighs as her tongue reaches out to touch his fingers when he traces them along her lips, teasing her with the taste of their spend, the result of their twisted lovemaking.

He lets himself admire her, body heaving and twitching beneath his half dressed one, her eyes dazed but looking at him with such a fondness that he can't comprehend it. He didn't deserve an ounce of it but he would covet it all the same. He presses his forehead to hers, chuckling softly and shaking his head before he turns his head to kiss her softly.

Chaste little kisses along her nose, her eyelids, along her cheekbones and finally finishing with a long, drawn out press of their lips. She presses herself against him, arms around his shoulders pulling him close, her legs around his waist just for the express purpose of feeling him against her. He falls willingly, the frantic pace of her heartbeat against his chest soothing as he presses his head back into her neck, his own arms wrapped around her shoulders and head as he presses himself against her.

They lay there until the blood and sweat upon their bodies cools and dries, the pull of it uncomfortable as Alastor peels himself away to sit on his haunches. He doesn't flinch as a thick tail coils around his ankle, its owner blissed out and so, so pleased with herself as she stretches languidly, dried blood flaking off her skin with every movement. His fingers reach out and dance along the bruises they left behind, small circles of green along her hips and thighs, blooms of purple and red along the column of her throat, the blossoming imprints of his teeth along her breasts and the parallel lines of red along her sides.

He must look no better. Already he can feel the steady throb of scratches along his shoulders, the tender ache of his scalp and the soreness of the cuts along his tongue from pressing them against her teeth. His clothes are shredded, thighs still trapped in what remains of his pants and his shirt nothing more than rags that hang from his shoulders. His glasses are smudged with spit and blood and grease and he lets them drop to his chest, his vision better right now without them.

He giggles then, the absurdity of what just happened hitting him like a loaded truck. He had just lost his virginity, in front of the corpse of his most recent kill after sharing its heart with the supernatural, ancient spirit between his legs. He had fucked said spirit, had her mewling and calling his name as he took her virginity as well, the significance of the moment earth-shattering as he realized he had probably done something no one else ever had and only the stupid ever dared.

Well…he was nothing if not innovative.

"Are you alright, dearest?" He lets himself lean back over her, hands beside her head as he looks down.

"Nothing hurts?" He cusps her cheek in his hand, thumb brushing lovingly against the blushed skin as she nuzzles into it with a quick shake of her head.

"Good," his face softens as his fingers trail down the bruises along her neck. "Was it…," he swallows and shifts awkwardly above her, "…ah, good…? For you? Did I…did I do a good job?"

A snort, an eye roll and then light giggling as his Mare vigorously nods her head. Her smile is contagious and Alastor feels his own mirroring her mirth, the momentary dip in his confidence forgotten as she lets her eyes drift shut, a gentle purring from her chest letting him now exactly how 'good' she felt right now.

He lets his fingers drift down, along her shoulders and down her arms to grasp her hands. He brings them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to each of her knuckles, thanking her between each one for her assistance, her belief in him, her presence, for sharing this kill with him and for letting him taste her, for letting him feel the one and only body he had ever wanted. For being able to taint her precious form with his vile seed, to cover her in his spend and the blood of his victims. To finally let him partake in that which he had been so scared to do. For having given him the permission to do so.

Or at least that's what he wanted to do.

He's pretty sure all that actually came out was thank you, thank you, thank you whispered over and over again into her skin.

The rest of the night is a blur.

Alastor can remember finally pulling himself from the alluring woman beneath him despite his cock's valiant effort at a second wind. He remembers pulling her up, laughing easily as she wobbled on unsteady legs before hefting her over his shoulder. She barely fights him, fists thumping lightly against his back and the thump of her tail against his face as she squeals in delight. A quick smack to her rump has her stilling, still giggling as he struggles on his own weak legs to exit The Shed.

At least she's still deceptively light despite the human form or else there was no way he would have made it to the porch. After hefting Gregory all the way to his car, out to The Shed, stringing him up and spending hours carefully peeling him apart before frantically losing himself to lust, Alastor simply was out of stamina.

He desperately wanted to flop face first into bed, say fuck it to the blood caked upon their skin and sleep in their own filth. He nearly said so as he struggled to set his Mare down, knees finally bucking as she slipped off to catch him before they could slam into the ground.

Her stamina was not so limited it seemed. He watched in a daze as she moved around him, the blood and filth gone from her body the moment she had turned to shadow to re-solidify in front of him. That was interesting. And useful. What he wouldn't give right now to be clean instantly.

He'd settle for the gentle feel of a wet cloth against his skin, for the soft sound of her humming as she cleaned him. He recognized the song, humming along and harmonizing as he let her maneuver his limbs, tilt his head to the side and clean between his fingers. He let his eyelids droop as she urged him to sit upon the bed, her lips ghosting along the clean paths she created as she continued to clean down his legs, gentle and careful as she cleaned between them, placing a chaste kiss at the tip of his sensitive head as his cock tried to stir back to life.

He was so tired though.

Another time maybe and he'd jump for the chance to place it between those lips but for now…

The feeling of her hands in his hair was too soothing to interrupt. Her hands pressing him to lean forward so she could pour cold, clean water against his curls to wash the last bit of blood away. He lets himself drift as she dries him, hands ever careful as she presses the towel against his hair, his neck, his face.

He is gone by the time she is ready to lay him back, a small fond smile on her face as she picks him up as if he weighs nothing to rest against the pillows. They will deal with the rest of the clean up tomorrow.

But the magic never truly left them. It was always there, hiding as a woman’s quick intuition and a man’s dumb luck at cards. It followed them in the crosses around their necks and the holy ash smeared upon their foreheads, in a secretary’s perfume and the tie a man must tie just so or else risk a bad sale day.

Those who possessed the natural talent could regain some of that control. Studying herbs and their uses, following the stars as they progressed through the houses, divining through tarot or crystal or smoke; all were minor magics that only needed a little application to become proficient in it. But what most practitioners lacked was intent .

Intent was what really fueled magic. One could burn basil and rosemary for hours before hitting up a casino and still come back empty handed if they didn’t bother to put their intention into it. Symbols held no power unless their maker fueled them, forcing their intent into every line and angle as their knife drags through ancient wood.

But even intent only got one so far. As Alastor had found out time and time again in his life that magic often worked in the ways you wanted but always unexpectedly. He had wanted a friend growing up and ended up with an assortment of chittering spirits that brought him inspiration when he was feeling low and kept him hidden in the shadows as he “ worked ”. As a teenager he had wanted to be imposing, a grown man who exuded confidence and could charm his way to the top of the radio business and ended up with a near permanent grin that left people uneasy in his prolonged presence. Lost things would always end up on the grave of his mother’s old cat and not his bed because he used the phrase “resting place” instead of “a place to rest”.

Magic, do as you will.

It was often easier for him to simply channel magic intuitively. To open his mind and let it in, limbs fueled by the spirits he employed and mind filled with arcane knowledge from his gods beyond what he could only understand in the moment . He let them know what he wanted to do and they often were able to do so as long as he kept up on his offerings and made the appropriate sacrifices as necessary. Especially once he started killing. A human soul was a powerful battery and he used them plenty to protect his mother, his house and himself when he was out hunting.

But powerful magic always came with a side effect. Something that would make you think twice about relying on the powers that be. A vain woman may notice her temples greying early, a gluttonous man may find his favorite bar was always out of his favorite beer, the brooding teenager may find their acne has cleared up but now their left shoe is always never where they left it, or a man who has never been tempted by sins of the flesh may find himself incomprehensibly stiff after performing major arcana. 

Like, shall we say, altering decades old protections on a house to include a creature that is not native to his magic and the land he was born in at all. In fact, said creature is so far removed from his own ancestors that he has to make it up and introducing new knowledge to one’s craft is a significant bit of magic. He had done it once to contain his Mare within the circle but that was minor work. The magic of the circle was an amalgamation of various magic from around the world and Alastor had gotten lucky that whatever magic ruled his Mare was a part of the magic that now contained her.

But there was no such precedent for Her within his native magic and so he had to completely rely upon the whisperings of his gods as they instructed his spirits to guide his hand. It was thrilling to be their temporary puppet, almost freeing as he fully opened his minds’ eye and let their energy channel through him. He had almost forgotten how to breathe when the last vèvè was altered and the strength of their magic thrummed through him, falling forward with a shuddering gasp and low moan as his pants moved against him.

He sat there for a few moments, sweat sliding down his neck as he struggled to maintain even breathing.

In one two three.

Out one two three.

In one two three.

Out one two three.

Alastor let go of the railing, knuckles popping as he stretched his fingers, and promptly used them to cover himself as his mother popped her head around the corner. “I felt that all the way from the shed. You’ve been behind on recharging the spells, I told you!” It wasn’t a chastisement, not really, and Alastor indulged her with a small chuckle.

“Yes Momma, right as always,” he used his left hand to adjust his glasses, the right firmly pressed against his stubbornly hard cock to keep it from view. “I’ll do better.”

Claudette shot him a wink, “See that you do. Now get cleaned up and ready for lunch. I’ll be in once I finish the last bundle.”

Alastor sniffed out a ‘Yes, ma’am’ and turned away, putting on a show of gathering his supplies and keeping his erection well from her view until it could go away. Unfortunately for him, even the mortification of being caught by his own mother with a raging hard-on didn’t cause it to waver. Oh no, even as she wandered back to the shed without a care in the world and Alastor walked stiffly through the house, his pants tented proudly. He cursed as he walked up the stairs, trying his best to think about the last disastrous date with Marie and her clumsy attempts to get his hands to wander south as they danced and the wet slimy feel of her lips against his ear.

He shuddered in distaste at the memory but his cock continued to throb as if to mock him. Magic always had a price and damn if this wasn’t a fucking stupid one. Alastor grumbled under his breath as he turned the shower on to let it heat up. He would have gladly offered his magic whatever years he had left instead of this blasted arousal! He must not have many left to bargain with or maybe the threat of a shortened life span wasn’t much of a price for him. It was one thing when he got hard after a kill. Quite another to have it forced upon him.

Ugh.

He quickly ripped the collar of his shirt open, cursing again as a stray button bounced off the mirror. He looked up at the sound, pupils dilated and eyes wild with his arousal, and scoffed. He looked positively deranged with his mouth pulled back in a tight smile and his hair sticking up in all directions from where he had run his hands through it in his distress. 

He paid himself no mind, hands flying down to unbutton his pants and underwear, kicking them off frantically as he gripped the sink for leverage. Thank fuck he dressed casually today and didn’t have to deal with his garters, his practically ripped his socks off and crashed his shoulder into the wall for his trouble. His lack of coordination no doubt a result of all his blood flow focused elsewhere. 

Alastor closed his eyes, breathing deep as he rolled his neck and shoulders to ground himself. He cracked them open, eyes half-lidded as he watched his own hands in the mirror. Graceful pianist hands, excellent for strangling, opened his remaining buttons one by one to expose the warm brown flesh underneath. 

He was thin, always just shy of emaciated. The abdominal muscles and v-line of his hips visible not because he was muscular but because there was so little fat on his body that his skin had no choice but to fill in the dips and valleys of the muscle itself. His shoulders were broad, his upper chest and arms the only real source of muscle he had, built up from years of piano, swing, and digging graves. His fingers drifted up from his side to graze against his ribs, prodding at the nearly healed bruising from his last kill. He shivered at the phantom pain, cock throbbing once at the memory and brushing up against the cold porcelain of the sink.

“ Ffffuuuuck--! ” 

His hips bucked once at the touch before he bent over the sink, shoving his hips back and away from anything the long length could touch. He hastily removed his glasses before they could slip off his thin face, slapping them on the counter somewhere near his head as he squeezed his eyes shut until the burst of arousal passed. It would only get stronger the longer he left it, that he knew from experience. 

Not that he didn’t have the real experience. Oh no, he was also a teenager once subject to the whims of the hormones ravaging his body. He was well acquainted with his hand back then but his distaste for the act was always there. So messy, so inconvenient that the whole thing seemed more like a chore than something he was supposed to enjoy. So he tried with a few of the cute girls around (and some of the not so cute but oh so willing) and it was far more enjoyable to put his fingers and mouth on them than have their clumsy, inexperienced hands on his cock. 

And the thought of actually putting it inside them? Oh, no thank you. He’d rather have his hands rearranging their guts with his trusty knife than spend 10 minutes clumsily rutting against them. He would stick with what was on the outside when the urge struck him, such an exceedingly rare novelty as it was.

Alastor huffed once through his nose, back straightening with a concerning pop as he stepped into the small shower. Warm water and steam instantly relaxed him, shoulders and head drooping to let the warm rivulets run down his back. He braced himself against the wall on one arm, the other reaching up to finally grab himself in a firm grip.

He hissed at the contact, hips bucking as he slowly pumped himself. His mouth dropping open as he pulled back his foreskin, exposing his sensitive head to the drip of water from his forehead. His knees nearly buckled when he thumbed the tip, pressing the nail hard into the opening to gather the steadily dribbling precum and spread it down his length.

Up and down, up and down.

He tried to fill his thoughts with images he had seen in nudie mags. Of wonton women with their legs open, fingers spreading their leaking cunts for him, begging him to take what he wanted. What he needed . He panted at the thought, of pressing harsh kisses into their delicate necks, of his teeth nibbling into their soft flesh and leaving purple marks as he moved down to take a soft breast into his mouth and bite .

His hand moved frantically, gripping his cock so hard that it bordered on painful as he practically strangled the thing, desperately chasing the release just out of reach. He grunts softly on every pass, practically whimpering as he grips his sensitive head but his orgasm remains beyond him.

In his frustration his mind’s eye tears into soft flesh, the warm spray of the water becoming a shower of blood as he tears and tears and sinks his fingers into pliant flesh, pressing his thumbs into his victims eyes and pressing until they pop and his nails scratch against bone.

Oh.

Alastor fell to his knees, the hand once bracing him against the wall now coming down to cup his balls, rolling the heavy flesh between his fingers as images of his last kill flooded his mind. Of what he could have done to that asshole’s corpse if he only had time.

Wouldn’t it be something to pop those eyes out of his head? To press his throbbing cockhead into the opening and seeing just how much he could fit inside it? He couldn’t help the gutted moan that ripped from his throat at the thought. But it wasn’t enough, not quite.

His mind toyed with the idea of opening the mouth, using this piece of shit man the same way he forced his own victims to take him on their knees. And then, inspiration! If only he had taken the time to drag this asshole back to his hunting shack. To the little shed in the back corner of the property where his real tools lay. Oh how he’d love saw through that thick neck, to feel warm blood spilling over his hands and chest as he sawed to the bone. Alastor would break his spine himself as easily as he broke a crab leg and tear his prize from the remaining flesh, cock throbbing in need as he held it up.

“F-fuuu-uck,” his voice hiccupped as a new wave of pleasure crashed over him. He bent forward, head resting against the wall as his hands worked viciously between his thin thighs. Wouldn’t it be a novel thing, forcing his cock into the hole of the neck? To feel the warm, soft hold of an esophagus taking him to the hilt over and over and over again. If he opened the mouth, would he be able to see his own cock leaking fluid all over the back of the throat? 

His moans devolved to deep grunts with every pass as he dreamed of it. Of hooking his thumbs back into vacant eye sockets, of squeezing the skull so tight he was sure it would begin to crack under the strain, of the slickslickslick of every pass of his cock fucking into--

Release!

Immediately, Alastor shoved his right arm into his mouth, biting down until he felt the warmth of blood. His left hand a blur as he frantically fucks it to completion, cum dribbling down his fingers to provide extra slick as his eyes roll back in ecstasy, curling over himself so hard that a spurt hits him right between the eyes.

He leans back with a grunt, scrunching his nose at the dull pain of his scarce ass hitting the hard floor. His eyes were unfocused, watching as blurry drops of cum dripped off his hand instead of shiny, gorgeous blood. His legs were still wobbly and Alastor resigned himself to sitting for the rest of his shower, pleasantly dazed from one hell of an orgasm.

The urge to sleep was strong and more than once he was sure he almost nodded off as he was, head smacking against the wall at least twice before the cold water began to wake him up and urge him out. No rest for the wicked it seemed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He quickly dressed and pepped himself up with a quick swig of whiskey from his bedside drawer. His little mare had to be awake by now and he still had some time to spare before lunch if the sounds below were anything to go by. He slipped into the room quietly, murmuring his hellos to her greeting nicker.

She sat in a prim and proper little loaf, legs folded beneath her as she tilted her head at him, red eyes following as he pulled his chair out from under his desk to sit it in front of her. She made an inquisitive noise as he slumped in it and he waved her concern away.

“Worry not my dear,” he said, “I had to alter the vèvè around the house to keep Momma off your tail. Turns out I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.” An affirmative snort. Rude. “But all will be well after I have some coffee. How are you faring?”

She shuffled in her nest, head turned away from him as she clapped her lips together. Immediately his eyes narrowed, all sleep gone as he leaned forward to look at her. Her legs seemed fine, curled up beneath her as they were, and her wing… “Move your head,” Alastor tutted and stood up as she tried to use her head to block where the break was. A noise of discontent rumbled from her as he moved around the circle to look at it.

Black blood marred the pristine white of the gauze and he immediately rounded back to her face, “What did you do?” His finger pointed right at her as she put on her best innocent face, eyes big in wonder and ears perked forward as she tilted her head to the other side. “No, don’t you act innocent with me. Sitting there like a cute little loaf of void. What did you do when the barrier reset--”

Alastor stopped mid-sentence and looked down at where the Mare’s front legs were curled up under her. It looked wrong. He was quite sure they never curled up like that. The limitations of a bird's legs would always leave her front legs out in front of her, claws crossed primly as she rested on the elbow. Ankle? It didn’t matter, what mattered is that the middle joint that would have been a horse’s knee was always bent backwards to match the hindquarters. Why were they curled up like a cat?

He was mad. He must be. His first sign clearly the jacking off to skullfucking his last victim. This had to be the second because he had drawn his Mare multiple times in the last three weeks and her legs definitely did not do that. “Wh-what is going on--?” 

The Mare maintained eye contact as she stretched her paws out, claws extending as she spread out ten black toes and promptly folded them under her again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reaching up to pinch his nose under his glasses. Cat paws. Those were cat paws that she most definitely did not have three hours ago. She made a sound that sounded suspiciously like laughter and Alastor snapped his eyes open again to glare at her.

He tried not to sound miffed as he spoke. “Could you always do that?” A shrug. How does a damn horse shrug? “Fine, nevermind. One thing at a time. How did you damage your wing again?” She stared at him, ears flicked to the side for a moment until she moved her head with a toss towards the window. Alastor followed her movement, not understanding until she did it a few more times. “...Window…you tried to go out the window? Why? You know you can’t leave the circle.”

A paw reached out with one extended claw to tap at the circle’s barrier, right at the sigil that was specific to her . “Sigil…symbol…you felt them change, didn’t you?” An affirmative noise like a cat trilling. “And the first thing you tried to do was escape?” Alastor wasn’t going to lie: that kind of hurt. “I’m trying to help you and--”

He was cut off by a snort, the Mare shaking her head to really emphasize that he was wrong. If her form was malleable why didn’t she make some vocal cords so they didn’t have to do this guessing business. “Why did you try to leave then?”

A single claw, no longer a cute cat paw but the usual eagle type that made her pointing a little easier to follow, pointed at his chest. “Me?” A nod and that claw reached up to her neck, dragging across it horizontally before pointing at him again. “Slicing a throat…cutting…uhm, killing! Right ok, killing…You thought something killed me?”

Nod nod nod!

Right! Okay, they were getting there. Charades was the game to play! “So you felt the protections change, thought it was because I got hurt and you wanted to investigate?” The claw lifted up and twisted back and forth in the universal ‘eeehhh’ gesture. “Close enough?” A nod.

“So you smacked into the barrier. Full force if it’s bleeding again.” A slower nod. 

Alastor licked his lips, fingers of his left hand tapping nervously against his thigh as he stepped up to the circle. The Mare never left her nest. “I need to rebandage it then. Make sure it’s not broken.” His smile strained at the edges as he felt his heart rate pick up at the stupid thing he was about to do. “May I have your permission to come in and fix it?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now this was unexpected! Of course it was insinuated that her Alastor would have to come into her jail to re-bandage her wing after their little deal but she had thought it would happen later rather than sooner. How fun! She wouldn’t hurt him. Not permanently if she wanted out. She suspected killing him would not work out for her and as diabolical and vindictive as she was, she had her integrity. If she behaved, she would be let out. If she behaved very well then it could happen sooner and she could hunt. The wing would never fully heal with just syphoning off of two humans. She just needed one. One to drain dry or maybe a small handful to leech from. An insignificant meal really.

She nodded agreeably and returned to her comfortable loaf position. “First things first, we need to establish some trust before I just waltz in there with you.”

Fair enough.

“Answer my questions and then I’ll fix the wing.” She nodded. “And no biting, maiming, scratching, or otherwise hurting me when I get in there.” They had gone over this this morning, silly human! She nodded again. “You can’t get out if you kill me. And my mother will eventually make it up here if I’m dead, which would be bad news for you, I’m afraid.” She rolled her eyes and made a derisive noise. Yes, yes, she already figured this out now let us move on!

“Right. Okay,” Alastor dryly chuckled as he sank back down into his chair. “So…you can change form? At will?” A nod. 

“Into anything?” A shake of the head. 

“Into things you’ve killed?” A slow shake with a scrunched up muzzle. She didn’t intend to kill them. Initially. It was instinct usually. But she supposed the whole process did actually kill the target. And it’s not like she takes the form of everything she’s killed. She only takes the ones she likes.

“Is that a ‘not quite’?” A nod. 

“Hmmm, okay. So if you have a malleable form is there a-a base form? Something what you originally were?” A nod.

“Would you show me?” A vehement shake. The audacity of this human asking to see her in her pure spirit form! How rude!

“Okay, okay! Not that!” He rubbed at the silly little fur on his upper lip as he thought. “Is this your favorite form then? The one you take most?” A nod.

“Alright. If you can change forms, why haven’t you fixed your wing?” Ah. Complicated that one. Normally a flesh wound would easily be mended by now, yes. But this wound was inflicted by a human-spirit and so damaged the spirit beneath, young as it was. As such, it meant she could no longer change the affected limb until that part of her spirit healed. It was a minor inconvenience that would have easily been rectified with a few feedings had she not been caught by Alastor.

But she couldn’t just say that, could she? She pointed towards the antlered spirit watching from under her Alastor’s desk and then made a motion like breaking a stick with her front claws. “Spirit…break?” She nodded vigorously. Oh, her human was so smart!

“Is it the spirit that broke?” Nod nod nod!

“You’re a spirit?” Oh, was that not obvious? “Not a demon?” She nodded her head. “Huh, well at least that’s a line I never crossed. Momma might accept a spirit but a demon? Heh, she’d have me switched raw.” His fingers tapped his lip as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs as he thought of his next question.

“So. You’re a spirit. A broken bit of spirit.” She was almost offended. She was a great spirit still very much whole and powerful thank you very much! She just had a little puncture. “Will you ever heal?” A nod.

“Does it take a long time for you to heal?” A shake of the head.

“Like what? A week?” A shake.

“A day?” Another shake.

“An hour?” A pause and then a head wobble.

“Around an hour then. But this break is three weeks old…that’s normal for a spirit break?” A shake.

Alastor blanched slightly at that. “If I had left you out there…would you have healed faster?” Her human was so smart. She could have been taken out by any strong human-spirit that would have come across her unconscious body but any mortal creature would have been easy enough for her to dispatch. And then she would have been free to feed in New Orleans and been long gone by now. Alastor and his mother had proved to be tasty small little snacks for her but they quickly grew stale and no longer provided much sustenance. He had kept her safe, yes, but she was not going to get better at this point. 

“Was it a mistake bringing you here?” Of course it was you silly man. A nod.

“Am I--Are we able to sustain you?” A solemn shake of the head.

Her ears twitched at the shuddering exhale coming from her Alastor as he realized that his good intentions at bringing her home to heal were in fact the worst thing he could have done for her. She had never been in this predicament before and now that her ire at being kept a pretty little pet in a cage had worn off, she was finding this whole thing quite entertaining! Even exhilarating! No human had ever kept a Nightmare before. She was quite certain of that since she only knew of the two of them! Her Alastor was a wonder! A prideful idiot but a wonder!

“Does it even help when I patch you up then?” A shrug. It helped stop further damage, she supposed. She bent her head back, neck popping unnaturally as she nosed the dried blood on the bandage.

“It keeps it stable then, stops the damage from getting worse?” A nod.

“Then I will endeavor to continue.” A fancy hand wave and then Alastor unfolds his legs, bracing his elbows upon them and clasping his fingers together to rest his pointed chin on them. “How old are you?”

She squinted her eyes and tilted her head. How was she supposed to answer that?!

“No, you’re right. Stupid question. How would you even know what years are? That’s a human thing. Never mind, it doesn’t matter how old you are.” His thin lips protruded out in a pout as he thought. “You kill humans, right?”

Nod.

“That’s how you feed?” Shake.

“...you don’t ne ed to kill humans?” A little affirmative snort with her head nod.

“It’s the fear you need right? I read a book once that said Nightmares feed off a human’s fear.” Nod.

“So…the killing is…for fun?” Smart boy! She rewarded him with a horse’s smile, upper lip lifting up to expose her sharp teeth.

“Would…you have killed me in the bayou?” She stopped and fixed him with a hard stare before letting her mouth morph, lips receding back as she smiled unnaturally big, the sides of her cheeks ripping apart to expose every…single…tooth made for rending flesh.

Nonplussed, Alastor rolled his eyes, “You could have just nodded. That’s an ugly face. Go back to being my cute little Mare.” Rude! The little spirit under the desk cackled at her and blew a raspberry before darting into its master’s shadow under his watchful eye. 

“Do you hunt in cities?” She tilted her head back and forth. She did when she needed a big meal, lots of humans to siphon fear off of. But she preferred to hunt them down. The fear a human exuded when they were hunted was exquisite.

“Not all the time?” Correct! She nodded her head.

“So if I take you out into the city-- later, mind you --you could feed without killing? Without drawing attention to yourself and me?” Can she nod derisively? She hoped he got the point.

“And if you wanted to kill a human…could I watch?”

She felt her face morphing into that ugly grin as she stretched her neck out towards him, head tilted to fix him with one great eye as her long tongue lolled out to lick her teeth. She would enjoy that very much. After all, who doesn’t like showing off their talents!

“Ugly face,” he sniffed. Immediately she shot her head up with an indignant snort, ears pinned in displeasure. “Oh stop it.” He sat back and waved a hand her way as if to ‘shoo’ her. 

“If…You already know I’m a killer too,” Alastor looked at his wall of newspaper clippings, contemplating. “I’ve been feeling the urge to hunt again,” he whispered, “And you need to hunt as well.” She couldn’t help but snake her head forward again, ears pressed as far forward as they could go as she listened. “We could…hunt together? For a bit. Until you’re healed?”

Was her human lonely ? She sniffed at the air and smelled just the faintest whiff of loneliness, like a child who got left behind at pickup or a man who kept getting talked over in conversation. Poor little Alastor. She nodded solemnly, curious not only about the strange emotions coming from him but also about how he killed. He was so skinny! His teeth dull! And she never saw him wield a weapon beyond the knife he kept at his waist. How he managed to subdue anything was a complete mystery to her.

His eyes returned to her, warm and brown as he continued his thoughts. Did he know he often rubbed his upper lip when he was thinking? Or that he drummed his fingers against his thigh? He was adorable! You know, she quite liked this new development. Of trying to be partners? Friends? Acquaintances? Rather than master and pet.

“Alright,” he said softly, “That’s enough for now. Time to fix that.” He motioned to her wing and stood up to grab his supplies. She watched with curious eyes, head lowered to the ground as she tried to make herself as unassuming as possible. Her Alastor was about to do something very stupid and he knew it. His nervousness was betrayed in every stiff movement, in the way he shifted his weight as he stood just outside the circle and in the barely perceptible shudder of his breath as he breathed deep and stepped inside.

For a moment, time stood still as they both looked at each other, bodies rigid as the reality of what Alastor just did, of what they both agreed to, settled over them. Then the Mare closed her eyes, tilting just barely to the left as she got comfortable. She missed the way his smile stretched to its limits, cracking the worried, dry skin of his lips before he stalked forward to sit behind the affected wing acting like this was just your average, normal Tuesday activity. He even hummed to himself, a bouncy melody that she couldn’t help but nod her head to as his rich tenor moved up and down. 

If she was capable of humming, she’d even try to join along but alas! She settled instead for a deep rumbling in her chest; one that startled Alastor and made him drop his grip on her wing for a few seconds before he realized she wasn’t going to eat him. She felt his small bit of joy waft from him and appreciated the three hearty pats he placed on her rump before he returned to binding the broken wing.

“I’m going to try something different, my dear.” Long ears flicked back to properly listen. “Since it won’t actually heal…,” he grunted as he adjusted on his knees, “I don’t see any sense in binding this one to the other. I think I just need to stop the one from moving.” She twisted her head to better see what Alastor was doing, silent even as the jostling of bone caused a bolt of pain to run down the wing. 

“Be a doll and let me know if anything gets tingly.” A doll? She snorted. There was nothing doll-like about her besides her ability to lay perfectly still when she needed to.

“There!” He ran his long fingers along a prominent vein along the exposed membrane before tugging gently at the gauze that wrapped around its base, securing the homemade braces against the break and leaving the majority of her wing exposed. “I need you to stand up for me now, little mare. Just a few more moments and we’re done.” 

She obliged, standing up with a languid stretch before stepping almost daintily out of her nest. What a good Mare she was! So well behaved and absolutely not thinking about the way warm flesh feels when--she startled and backed away, rump hitting the barrier behind her and jaw snapping at where silly hands had grazed under her belly. 

“Apologies, apologies!” Alastor did not sound sorry at all as he lifted both his hands up in surrender, smile tight as he stepped forward again. “I didn’t think you could be ticklish. It’s quite precious.” She pinned her ears and followed his movements, maintaining their distance as he tried to close the gap. His eyes narrowed, face pinched in frustration before he rolled his eyes with a sigh.

“Sorry for startling you. May I please reach under and around you to make a sling for your wing?” He even bowed a little, the brat. 

Mollified, she sidled up next to him again, nosing gently at the loose fabric at his ankle. Alastor patted her again before reaching under her to grab the end of the gauze. “Head up please,” he lightly tapped under her neck and moved around her, ducking his arm under her head as he wrapped the last of the gauze around her neck and secured it to the bit around her ribs. 

Finished and satisfied with his work Alastor stood before his stolen Mare, eyes darting everywhere for any sign of a threat before he slowly reached out. She met him halfway, neck extending to place her muzzle against his palm. She liked his little shocked laugh and stepped closer to really press against him, causing him to raise his other hand and run them down the side of her face, gently holding her jaw as she reached up to nuzzle under his jaw. 

“Ha ha! Should I--hahaha-be worried about having your te-eth near my neck?” He giggled as she stepped forward again to press her chest and neck against him, soft muzzle continuing to tickle just under his ear as she wiggled it back and forth. “S-stop, you violent creature! That ti-ckles!”

She did not stop. In fact, she found she liked the taste of the sweat that had dripped along his neck and the strength of his hands as he tried to hold her head still, stopping her wandering nose from tickling his ear. He was nearly backed to the edge of the circle now, steps slow as he struggled to remain standing upright between his giggles and her gentle pressure against his chest.

She moved as quickly as the idea struck her, claw reaching out to grab Alastor by the ankle and pulling it out from under him as she scuttled backwards. His back hit the ground hard, immediately crossing his arms across his neck and uselessly trying to kick his trapped ankle out of her iron grip. His instant bolt of fear was exquisite and she found it quite difficult not to snap him up right then and there.

His eyes grew wide with shock, fear, betrayal, as she stood over him and placed a serrated claw against his chest and he stilled. She could feel his heart beating frantically against that thin chest, his lungs struggling to pull air through his stressed smile, jaw clenched as hard as he could as he watched her lower her head. Her pleased rumble echoed around him, through him as she pressed harder against his chest, heavier than he could have thought possible as she fully pinned him down; back claws holding his ankles down, the last one wrapped around his bicep and that dangerous mouth inching closer and closer to his face, that deceptively cute muzzle opening to--

--Lick his cheek from the base of his neck all the way through his hair, displacing his glasses and leaving Alastor thoroughly confused. He looked at her with eyes so wide she could see the whites of them and she laughed, whinnying loud enough that he immediately snapped out of his fear induce stupor to shush her, hand reaching up to close her muzzle and lifting his head from the floor to whisper harshly. “Shut the fuck up! What was--why did you--if momma hears you I swear to--!!!”

She shoved him down again and he landed with a soft ‘oof!’ before she settled down on top of him. Like an extremely spoiled cat she laid between his legs, neck and body extended to lay along his long and bony (not comfortable!) torso before nestling her head against his neck, muzzle lazily flicking at his earlobe before she wrapped her tail around the same ankle she was manhandling. 

They laid there, his heart slowing its frantic pace under her warm and steady pressure. She rumbled contentedly as he awkwardly wrapped his left hand in her mane, his right thumb lightly tracing the outline of her ear despite her best attempts to flick it off.

“You’re heavy.” 

“The what now?” Fuck his nose burned.

“The chick you’ve been meeting after work each night?” Erick offered Alastor his own handkerchief, a small apology for surprising his fellow radio host. “Dark hair, nice smile?”

“Ah,” Alastor muttered a quick thanks under his breath and dabbed the last of the coffee from his upper lip. He made a show of rubbing his sinuses, using the precious few moments it bought him to come up with a cover story. Unfortunately it also gave Erick, Alastor’s self-styled ‘wingman’, plenty of time to come up with his own conclusions.

“So she’s your girl right? You finally leaving the bachelor life behind?,” Erick stepped close, smile wide and eyes alight like a little kid excited to share in a secret. “C’mon pal, you can’t keep a secret from me! You gotta tell me who she is!”

Oh, she’s just a Nightmare who can suck your life force out through your fear and likes to take humans apart for funsies. “She’s my niece.” He doesn’t like to do it, not to a stand-up guy like this, but the lie falls out of Alastor’s mouth easily enough, “She fell on some hard times and momma and I are helping her get back on her feet.”

Erick whistled and backed off, hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he backpedaled. “Damn, niece huh? A shame. I thought you’d finally joined us in the world of depravity.” He laughed, a loud booming and good-natured sound that honestly, Alastor enjoyed. Besides Erick’s insistence at trying to get Alastor to go home with any girl with a half-pretty face at Mimzie’s, he was a decent man with a decent set of pipes that matched Alastor’s own frenzied style of piano-playing. He was one of the few men who didn’t immediately put Alastor’s teeth on edge: a man you could be proud to bring home to momma, if you could get him through the door.

“A-ha, you still have your work cut out for you my friend! Now, did you see station management's newest memo about--” Deflect, deflect, deflect.

“Does she like to dance?” Erick wrapped his arm around Alastor’s thin neck, bringing the taller man down a good five inches to his level so as to whisper in his ear, “You see, Ismelda and I broke up. No no, no apologies, we just didn’t see eye to eye on the whole 'going steady' thing--but she was a damn good dancer and I miss it. All the good girls are getting shacked up and leaving me behind. I could use someone….ah, unattached, yeah?”

A record scratched somewhere in the back of Alastor’s mind as he imagined his Mare in Erick’s arms, smiling and laughing as he tossed her in the air, the dull lights reflecting off their shiny black heads. “She’s a terrible dancer.” God, could she even dance? It doesn’t matter, she wouldn’t be dancing with anyone other than him.

"I'm a great teacher!" As if to demonstrate his ability, Erick twirled Alastor around and dropped him in a dip. A move that would have gotten him an elbow to the ribs if Alastor wasn't caught so completely off-guard by his co-worker's sudden interest in his Mare.

"No thank you—put me down—I will be the first to take her to Mimzie's. I don't want to overwhelm her." He didn't need anyone else's grubby hands on her anyways. She was his.

"Uh-huh," something flashed behind Erick's eyes, a little flare of the 'ah-ha!' as if he had connected two dots previously thought unrelated. "And if I said she was just my type and I wanted to take her out on Saturday?"

Alastor stiffened and whipped his head towards Erick, smile turned grimace as he forced himself to calmly dust off his vest and not reach for the knife at his waist. "You will do no such thing," his said harshly.

"I see," Erick laughed and backed away, hands up in defeat as he shook his head. "You do have a little crush on your niece!"

"I—what???"

"I get it now! You know it's not the most taboo thing, hell the blue bloods been doing it for ages!"

"Erick, really it's not—"

"It's okay, Al! I get it! She's already part of the family, she already knows how weird you are and she's a cutie. She may have fallen on hard times, sure, but another's misery is your gain right?"

"I really can't emphasize how wrong—"

"Uh-huh, got it sir!" Erick saluted as he backed out of the break room.

"Seriously, Erick you've got it—" Panic gripped Alastor as he followed.

"Just make sure I get a wedding invitation!"

"A—what??? Erick don't—!" Alastor gripped both sides of the doorway, knuckles white as he looked to-and-fro for witnesses. Erick's office door slammed shut and his loud cackling instantly made Alastor's hackles raise even higher, his teeth aching with the pressure he was putting on them as he ground out his frustrations.

What just happened to him?

It was stupid of him to have let The Mare meet him out in the parking lot after work. He could have met her literally anywhere, literally any corner from here to Bourbon would have done fine enough. Now he had potential witnesses!

To what, he didn't quite know yet. It wasn't like they had done anything yet beyond taking strolls in the dark, sharing a cigarette or two while one-sidedly making plans for the weekend before returning home.

But their time together was private, something precious that Alastor didn't want other's witnessing. From the moment they woke up Monday morning, snuggled against each other like two perfect puzzle pieces, Alastor had felt something change. One would think that it would have been the moment she had brought him to completion, an adolescent-like spill in his pants as she tasted the blood—his blood!—that she had drawn. But that was not The Moment.

It could have even been the quiet afternoon they spent in the water. The Mare bare and turned away from him, her back and wings exposed as she lazily snoozed, fingertips twitching as dragonflies tried to land on them. But no, that was not it either.

It was when he had woken up, eyes blurry and struggling to focus together as he watched the dust motes float through a morning sunbeam. It was quiet. The quietest his mind had been in a long time without being covered in fresh blood. It was novel, to lay there and feel…content…to feel as if there was no place he'd rather be than in bed with his Mare.

Now that was a startling thought and he would have sat up in panic if it weren't for the soft weight against his chest. He had looked down, eyes working double time without his glasses to focus on the sleeping woman on him. She had fallen asleep on his chest, one arm curled up under her chin and the other lost somewhere between their bodies. Across them lay an extended ebony wing, the claws of which were clutched around his bicep. Alastor had found his own hands holding her just as tightly, one resting in the dip of her waist and the other wrapped securely around her thigh, stuck there for so long that there was an audible sticky noise when he lifted it off.

She had awoken then, pointed chin digging uncomfortably into his sternum as those red eyes found his. "G'morning, darling," he didn't fight the words. He didn't try to hide the fondness in his voice. He found he no longer wanted to. He wanted to wake up to her like this every day, to see that deceptively sweet smile as she pushed herself up him, to press their foreheads together and feel the gentle nuzzling of her nose against his. If it meant hunting down the filth of New Orleans, if it meant letting her cut and slice into his flesh, if it meant finally succumbing to the atrocities of love and lust he'd do it.

For her.

For him.

Because at the end of it all, he was selfish. He would keep her and she him, whatever that meant for their present and future. Such a revelation should have been terrifying, even daunting, and yet to Alastor it only felt natural. He understood then why he was so different, why he had no attachment to others nor a true desire for companionship beyond simple entertainment.

They were not for him.

If soulmates were real, if humans were meant to search and find their 'other halves' then someone like Alastor—someone violent, cold, and sadistic—was doomed to forever be alone. With no mortal to turn to he had only the supernatural left, his spirits, his gods, his magic. It was a pipe dream to be able to find that which he had so secretly and desperately wanted, a private wish he had coveted for so long that he had already given up and forgotten it.

And yet there it was, sitting in his lap and arching her back, concerning noises coming from her joints as she stretched limb and wing. His glorious partner, his soul-mate, His Mare. He still didn't have a name for the feeling in his chest but it drove him to drag her down anyways, half-flipping them over so that she rested in his arms beneath him with just enough space for her wings against the bed. She let him, because of course she did, she had never once let him do anything to her that she did not in someway approve or was curious about since she was released.

He had wanted to kiss her again, to feel her in his arms as he pressed her into the mattress. He wanted to lose himself in her, to bury his face into her neck and take her flesh into his teeth. He wanted to pull at her hair and expose her neck, to worry at the thin flesh and mark her as his in the indecent ways only a man could. He wanted to pull every sound he could out of that throat, to hear her say his name in ecstasy and shout in pain and all the soft little noises in between. He wanted to cry into her chest, to curse her for the grip she had on his heart. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and throttle her for all the mental misery she had subjected him to. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to feel the warmth of her cunt around his throbbing cock, and to make her crazy with the lust she had infected him with.

Her very presence had driven him mad.

And he was thankful for it.

But he had let her go that morning with nothing more than another long, drawn out hug.

They had returned home by midday with plenty of time to empty the car and help Claudette with a late lunch before Alastor had to get ready for work. It was lovely, domestic even and something that should have bored Alastor to tears and yet he was enthralled. For underneath it all he still was a murder with an active mark and an active plan and he was looking right at a creature who had spilled more bloodshed and misery than he ever could even if he had another hundred years to do so.

His vicious creature hidden under the guise of a docile and demure young woman struggling to cast on stitches under his mother's patient gaze. The flash of red anger in her eyes, the slowly fraying yarn as it caught on her claws, the curl of her lip and the sharpness of her canines in the low light, the jerky way in which her neck snapped on her neck as she got more and more frustrated and began to lose her human fluidity, all of them were his spies.

He had wanted to bring her into the city right then and there, to watch with morbid fascination if anyone else could see her wrongness or if they were blinded by her nearly perfected camouflage. Would they be beguiled by her pretty face and tailored dress? Would they be drawn to dark eyes and a smiling mouth, guard dropped even as they followed her into a darkened alley not once thinking that the slim woman could overpower them through sheer brute force?

Fuck he wanted—no, needed—to see it.

But not yet. She needed to finish regaining her full strength, to fill the gaps between her ribs and flesh out the angles of her hips; to make sure that should they come across another bump-in-the-night that she would be safe. Alastor was powerful himself, his spirits, gun, and knife leaving him quite safe from most of the night's bogeymen but he had seen first hand himself how even a rougarou had hurt her. He saw her flinch from pure silver and frown at the crosses above the doors they passed, he saw her sniff and avoid certain herbs in the kitchen as he cooked, he saw the way in which she shook her head every time the church bells rang their solemn song and he knew that as powerful as she was, she was not invincible.

He couldn't have that. He would not see her end. He would not see her fall because of her fondness for him. He would keep her strong, be a witness to her glory, a supplicant upon her altar of fear; begging, weeping, reaching out for just the barest glimpse of her abominable power. Together, they'll rid New Orleans of the filth that ravages his fair city. Clean the streets of every man that dares lay hand upon woman or child, who vilifies and abuses those with an ounce of color to their skin and frankly, get rid of anyone that Alastor simply could not stand.

So he brought her to work the last three days, a sleek little cat slipping out between his legs as he exited the car chirping as she ran to the shadows. She met him perfectly on time, stepping out of the shadows in whatever dress he had left in the back seat for her, prim and proper and only ever once with a bit of blood under her nails. Together they drove to the river, to a quiet spot where they could talk and plan in relative peace.

Well, Alastor talked; his limbs flailing as he whispered in hushed tones every step of his plan, of each new idea that infected his foul brain every time he caught a glimpse of Gregory at the end of the night. The Mare nodded along, humming her agreement or shaking her head at his ideas, stealing his second cigarette and skipping ahead like a schoolgirl, twirling her skirt and mimicking her own ideas upon an invisible body between them.

She had rapidly filled out, whatever it was she did in those scant 8 hours a day filling out her borrowed dresses so that they pulled tight in all the right places Alastor did not know he enjoyed. The softness of her jaw, the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her hips and the way her borrowed heels cut into the tops of her feet, pillowy soft and delicate as she balanced upon the wooden fence along their path. He desperately wanted to know how many people she had fed upon. Did she kill any of them or did she leave them to lay and rot where she found them? She never answered. Only laughing when he asked and placing his cigarette back between his lips.

The foul thing.

And yet every night he welcomed her into his bed, curling around her and burying his nose into the back of her head to breathe in her blood-tinged scent. He fell asleep to the sound of her gentle purring, his dreams filled with sex and violence and so, so much blood. He awoke every morning with her head on his chest, her body half on top of his and his hands wrapped securely around whatever parts of her he could grab. He felt the urge to take her, to act out on his rapidly disappearing dreams and make her squeal beneath him.

But the smell of coffee reminded him of who else was in the house and he could not bear the thought of his mother…no, just let that thought go thank you very much.

He may have finally accepted his concerning and rapidly growing attraction to The Mare but that didn't mean he had to lost control. He was not about to lose their virginity while his mother cooked him breakfast. The thought of drinking his coffee and looking his mother in the eye not ten minutes after deflowering their tenant spirit was…

Alastor felt a lump in his throat, nearly retching on the feeling as he lit up his first cigarette of the night. Thursday night to be exact. The night he and his precious Mare would grab their prey and spend the entire weekend—three days!!!—losing themselves in more ways than one.

He felt giddy as the nicotine hit, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as the sun set and the last of the station's employees began to head out. Soon, Gregory would be in, if he wasn't already. Just him and Alastor and The Mare all alone in the empty station with its sound proofed rooms.

His fingers shook as he put out the spent cigarette, twisting and crushing it more than necessary as he impatiently fetched another with his odd hand.

A tap at the window and Alastor jumped, cursing as the movement caused him drop his lighter and singe the tip of his fingers. He glared at the raven sitting innocently on the windowsill, its head tilted just so that its eyes appeared red in the disappearing light. He rolled his eyes and let it in.

"You could have waited until I finished lighting it," Alastor said petulantly to the bird as it hop hop hopped across the small table under the window. It flapped its wings indignantly, reaching out quickly to nip his wrist as if to chastise him before it disappeared.

He had watched The Mare shift many times by now and yet the motion still filled him with awe. His eyes and mind had yet to fully grasp how what was once a large raven one second was now a naked woman the next, tossing her hair as the last feathers fell away into silken curls. She leaned casually against the table, immediately catching Alastor's attention as his eyes squinted in judgment when bare skin met the furniture. He'd have shooed her off, chastised her for putting her naked lady bits on public furniture if she didn't stop him in his tracks by snatching the unlit cigarette from his lips.

"I should have never let you try one," he pouted as she sauntered to his desk and grabbed the discarded lighter. She smiled agreeably, humming in her throat as she flicked it, red eyes aglow in the light of the flame.

"At least get dressed first. Before you burn your self on the ashes." Alastor took a page from her book, stealing the cigarette back from her mid-inhale. "Go on, in the bag there," he mumble around the cigarette, waving her towards the travel bag sitting in the chair next to the door. She rolled her eyes and complied, fully immune to way Alastor's eyes followed her every movement with laser-like focus, his face lit up periodically by a long pull on the cigarette, the image of nonchalance if it weren't for the mild twitching in his pants.

"When you're done, just sit there patiently. Come read with me if you must but no wandering." Alastor broke his gaze and slumped down in his own chair, sighing is resignation at the pile of letters he was only halfway through. "We need to make sure everyone else is gone before we hunt. I don't want to explain the strange woman in my office." He shuddered to think what chaos Erick would unleash if he came across The Mare wandering around.

"We shouldn't have to wait for long," he continued, "Gregory should be in within the hour."

The Mare pulled her chair close, grinning brightly as she reached for a discarded pen and paper. 'I can let you know when he's here."

Alastor rose an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

'Can sense where humans are.'

"What? Like radar? You have human radar?"

'How else do you think I feed from afar?'

Alastor shook his head, both distressed and impressed about how little of the Mare's skills he knew about and how little she willingly shared. If he didn't ask it directly she would never divulge. As if he wouldn't do the same.

"Alright," he passed her the remainder of the cigarette and waved around the letter in his hand. "Is there anyone in the building right now?"

The Mare closed her eyes, as still as a corpse as she focused. A small chill wafted from her, noticeable only from Alastor's proximity and hyper-awareness of every little thing she did. Beneath him his shadows trembled, eager to come out to play. She opened her eyes a moment later and shook her head.

"Fabulous! Let me know when someone does come, yes? Good girl." And yet she did not. An hour and a half passed, then two, then nearly three before Alastor finished going through his letters and jotting down potential advice segments—his patience fragile and frayed. Beside him the Mare folded his discarded papers, littering his desk with a dragons, cranes and ducks. He did not ask were she got that knowledge.

"Are you sure he isn't here yet?" Alastor's voice was strained, his knee bouncing and hitting his desk repeatedly with his frustrations.

The Mare rolled her eyes and flicked a folded triangle at him, hitting him squarely in the face before tapping forcefully on a previously written note. 'No one is here.'

Alastor stood up in a flurry, growling low in his throat as his hands gripped at his hair. "Grrrrr, where the fuck is he?!" He paced frantically around his office, tugging harshly at his hair as he felt the last of his patience snap. "The fucker…", he stopped suddenly and dropped his hands, all tension immediately gone as he faced the Mare. "Let's go. We'll get him ourselves."

Her Alastor was a fickle thing. Determined, yes, but always switching about and letting his emotions get the better of him despite his insistence that he was above them. Whether it was fighting and fighting and finally succumbing to his love for her or switching between breaking into his prey's house or waiting patiently outside it's home he always changed his mind, waffling to-and-fro between his decisions before gritting his teeth, biting his proverbial bullet and jumping head-on into whatever ill-choice he had made.

The Mare had no such inclinations.

She may change her mind based on the information available to her but once a decision was made, she kept to it. In this case, her decision was to let Alastor bite his nails and curse under his breath for about five more minutes until she went and got his prey herself.

Faster if he drew blood from that poor tortured thumb.

Ah, his blood. She felt her mouth water at the memory, that single saccharine drop she had placed on her tongue that caused her precious lamb to orgasm so hard his eyes rolled back and his body fell limp in the slack chains she had strung him up in. It was never her intention, determined as she was to play by his rules and let him come to her and in some ways he certainly had but what a delightful insight he had given her. Another glimpse into his twisted little mind that had hers whirling through the night, images of him tied up and bloody, eyes glassy with pain and pleasure, his pretty voice cracked and broken as he begged for mercy in the form of his release—death or pleasure, hers alone to decide.

She breathed heavily through her nose, mind returning to the present as the copper tang of blood filled her senses and Alastor barely acknowledged the pain as he sucked his thumb into his mouth, brows drawn together in concentration as he once again debated the short climb up into the third-story apartment. Her own eyes followed his, tracing the water pipe that ran down the edge of the handsome brick building to the newly added fire escape, it's metal ladder drawn up and away from the would be wanders of the alley. She considered the front door, easy to open she was sure and too solid for Alastor to just shove his way in.

No, the best way was definitely the window. Of course, she could always Call the thing down, mesmerize the dull creature and send it tumbling out the window into her waiting arms much like she had almost drawn Alastor into The Circle when they first met. But that required at least some visual contact and their prey was currently…she closed her eyes and focused on the apartment above them, feelings of fear and pain and regret and anger wafting over her, swirling and twisting nauseatingly and making her stomach ache.

Their prey was well on its way to getting drunk after taking its anger out on its mate. She was in pain; pain that was not enjoyable and left her feeling hollow and broken while her partner, her husband, drowned out its anger, doing its best to snuff out the flame of its anger under copious amounts of the foul tasting liquid.

It would either drink itself comatose or go after it's wife again.

Her decision was made.

She reached out to pull Alastor's thumb out of his mouth and pressed her lips to the back of his hand before she slipped away into shadow. His noise of distress was, as always, hilarious and she resisted the urge to snicker as she slipped silently into the night, right into the heart of the even darker shadows of the alley.

"What are you doing?", Alastor hissed. His fingers gripped the car door frame, his head just barely peeking out the open window ever wary of being seen so close to his prey's domicile. His head whipped back and forth before he silenced, fingers slipping back into the vehicle and twisting around the clothes The Mare had left behind, his handsome face twisted into a grim smile as he tried to watch her move within the shadows.

A futile thing really. She was a dark as the caverns that never saw light, the definition of her limbs lost the moment she stood still; she faded into the background as a shadow does, only every drawing attention when one moved out of place. She was a flit of movement in the corner of your eye, the suspiciously dark shadow upon the ground that you could have sworn was not there a moment ago. She was the odd casting of a tree's limb in the dull lamplight, moving silently up the brick facade and darting quickly into an open window.

She was a small black cat, tail flicking against the window frame as she silently hopped down to the floor. The apartment was small, nothing more than a open living room and a small hallway with an even smaller bedroom. Simple. A pain for not only did The Mare need to get the prey, she needed to dispatch the woman.

Well, not too difficult she supposed. Once upon a time she would have simply killed the woman too, fed on her fear as she choked upon it, ebony claws tightening around a throat as ivory teeth sank into the flesh of…the cat shook its head, the sound of her ears slapping against her head drawing the woman's attention.

They stared at each other, the woman's haunted, sad eyes curious as the little black cat with it's own glowing eyes chirped at her. The woman's eyes darted to her husband, his head threatening to fall upon his chest as it bobbed along to the music from his radio, his eyes as closed as his ears to the rest of the world. The woman smiled, stopping her cleaning of her own blood from the floor, her lip split again and a flash of pain flitted across her face but still, she smiled. She extended her hand, the limb shaking with the effort and cat trotted happily towards her.

The Mare rubbed her face against the woman's fingers, getting her to itch the pleasant spot amongst her whiskers and purring happily when a second hand joined under her ear. The woman dared not make a noise but her lips parted as if to coo and she moved both her hands down to scratch both sides of the The Mare's neck, her fingers hard and purposeful as they sunk into the cat's fine muscle and bone. The woman gathered the cat in her arms, cradling it carefully in her arms with one hand cusping its head lovingly, a thumb on one side and the rest of the fingers on the other.

The woman stood and The Mare peeked one eye open, still thoroughly enjoying the little bit of pampering before she figured out what to do with the woman. That is, until the woman's timid smile turned vicious, her lip dripping blood as a wild light came into her eyes and she twisted the little cat's head until it snapped.

Oh ho!

The Mare's heart jumped in surprise even as her body when limp. She let herself hang there, reveling in her shock as the woman continued to pet her, slim fingers digging cruelly into The Mare's broken neck as she stood and carried her limp body into the bedroom. How fascinating to be a victim of a broken woman, the beaten whom took out their own shame and frustrations on the innocent. Or maybe there was a cruelty in the woman all along, something foul and tainted that drove her husband to hit her, to try and beat out the cruel gleam in her eyes.

All so so fascinating and maybe, after The Mare fetched Alastor's prey, she could come back and torment the woman. Tease her by coming back as the cat every day, moving from wherever the woman would stash her 'dead' body, a flash of a black tail in the window while Alastor was at work, a soft meow that could never be found, waking her with fresh scratches before hissing and diving under the bed to disappear. Oh yes, she'd come back to this one. She would be a filling meal.

But there was no time now. Alastor was waiting.

So she let herself fall out of the woman's arms, resolidifying and striking her with a well placed elbow to the face before the woman could register what was happening. The woman landed hard and The Mare followed her with hands around her throat, ice cold fear paralyzing the woman and making her scramble in panic, The Mare's hand around her mouth blocking her screams, stopping her lungs from desperately pulling in air, her head throbbing and turning red from the blood trapped within. She passed out quickly, body already tired from her earlier beating and her tarnished mind struggling to keep up with what was happening.

The Mare patted her hair much in the same gentle way the woman had the cat, the backs of her fingers tracing gently across her bruised cheekbones and swollen lip. Oh yes, she'd be back for this one.

The Mare walked silently into the living room casting a cursory glance at Alastor's prey and found him in the beginning stages of sleep. Delightful. She let herself out the front door, once again a little cat trotting happily down the hallway and stairs up to the heavy front door. She opened it slowly, shadows expanding and darkening the hallway so that she could return to her favorite form and nicker softly for her Alastor to enter.

He followed obediently, lips pulled back into a tight grimace as he skulked out of the car and into the entryway. The Mare snorted. He was better served just waltzing into the place like he owned it. No one would have batted an eye at that. But a grown man hunched over with his head whipping to-and-fro with each step? He was lucky she had her shadows to cover him. What did he ever do without her?

She nuzzled against him once he was inside, lips tickling under his chin and a low nicker in her throat as she pressed him against the door to close it. "S-stop that," Alastor pushed her head away and shook his head, hand rubbing against the spot she just assaulted. "There's plenty of time for that later, dear one. Lead the way."

She snorted and trotted away briskly, silent as the grave as she flitted between the dark corners of the stairs, red eyes glowing from the shadows and leading her Alastor up, up, up to the prey's den. He was not as stealthy as her, large feet slapping against the hardwood, the fancy leather of his shoes betraying his every step as he slowly ascended behind her. She snarled at him when he took a corner too sharp and nearly fell, an aborted noise of pain escaping him for just a moment as he caught himself on the railing, her bared teeth in his face silencing him before they entered the final set of stairs.

Alastor's replying smile was sheepish, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks betraying his embarrassment as he straightened up and held up his open hands. Silly thing, she could never be mad at him. A quick lick to his cheek and they were off again, slipping into the open apartment door and locking it safely behind them.

The Mare stood a silent sentinel by the door, content to watch as Alastor took in the small space. He was still at first, breaths shallow as he observed the discarded dinner on the the counters, the dirty pots and pans, and the cleaning supplies on the counter. A few more steps in with his eyes focused on the sleeping prey, his steps slow and precise to avoid making the hardwood squeak. His head tilted towards the half cleaned blood, a foot reaching out to toe a lost tooth. He looked back at The Mare quizzically, pointing at the surprising amount of blood on the floor. She tossed her head towards the bedroom, refusing to step forward.

This was Alastor's time after all.

He nodded and prowled down the hallway, disappearing for a moment into the bedroom before exiting just as silently. He slipped his hand inside, locking the door and closing it. The Mare titled her head but did not question his choices. She watched him come back to the living room, hand slipping into his pocket to pull out a hated-syringe. Her lips pulled back involuntarily as the light caught it, the milky white liquid sleep taunting her and filling her with disdain. She'd rather he knock the man out, garroted it until its breathing stopped, reviving it just enough to lie weakened in the back of the car.

She reminded herself that this was not her kill. That Alastor was showing her that which he had never shown another, prideful as he gave her a quick wink over his shoulder before plunging the needle into the prey's neck. It was quick, nearly as quick as it worked on her. The prey woke for just a moment, eyes nearly bugging out of its head as the sharp prick woke it from its alcohol induced slumber.

And then its eyes lost focus, blearily looking up at Alastor's vicous grin, his eyes alight with a manic gleam as he leaned down into his prey's face. "Hello Gregory," his voice was husky and low as he sneered at it. "Sleep tight." Recognition. For only a moment before the prey's eyes drooped more, each blink a struggle as it tried to lift its arms, to push back against the slim man crowded into its personal space.

Futile.

The Mare licked her lips as the prey slumped forward into Alastor's arms, his heavy weight even heavier once fully unconscious. But Alastor was fueled by adrenaline, his quiet giggle manic and high as he shoved it back into the chair. At his feet his spirits swirled, power swelling around him as he spoke low but clear, supplicating to his gods for the strength, stealth and luck needed to serve them their due. He spoke of the slow and arduous torture, of the sweet fear and pain he'd deliver to them, of the marks he'd place upon his sacrifice's soul and the joy in which he would serve. He spoke of sharing his joy, of his eagerness to learn from his Mare and through her teachings he would serve Them better.

The Mare jumped as she felt the icy-cold touch of something brush along her spine, bone-thin fingers tracing up her spine against the flow of her fur to flick once at her ears before disappearing. She nipped at where she thought the phantom fingers would be but found nothing but the bitter taste of clove and ash. And then a thrum of power, much like her own before Alastor's spirits came together and solidified as one, a strikingly thin creature with a great rack of antlers towered over him, long claws extended to their sleeping prey before it slammed back into Alastor with a rustle of static.

Alastor fell forward as they merged, arms shaking with the exertion before he stood up quickly and dusted off his hands. And then he surprised The Mare yet again, turning around to heft the larger prey upon his own back, barely showing any exertion as he lumbered towards her. "Just needed…a little extra help," he offered before pulling open the front door.

Amazed, The Mare watched as the shadows she was so used to hiding in also wrapped themselves around Alastor. She could see him just fine but the corners of the hallway were dark and the lights upon the ceiling flickered and were dull as if fighting the urge to blow out. Inside the apartments she felt the occupants shudder and pull away from their doors, hiding away for reasons they did not know into their bedrooms or sheltering against their living room windows, anything to not look at their front doors.

He was quieter too. The soft scuffing of his shoes which had been almost offensive to her ears when the entered completely silent as she followed. Why, she even heard her own soft padding steps over his own and she gave in to the urge to change into a small owl, silently gliding down the staircase in lazy circles as she waited for Alastor to catch up.

And he did, abnormally quickly. As if he skipped an entire story but she knew he did not. He simply had the strength and confidence to move as a man twice his muscle mass, the shadowy tendrils of his spirit wrapped around his exposed arms and helping him support the extra weight.

Fascinating.

She opened the door for him, changing quickly into her preferred form so as to grip the handle with her claws. He did not mutter a thanks for they still needed to sneak the body into the car but he reached out with a gentle hand to scratch against her ear instead.

Once outside she dashed into the car, a fleet cat jumping through the open window and into the back seat where she could change into her human clothes. Behind her the car rocked silently as Alastor tossed his prey into the trunk, the only noise his grunts of exertion as he maneuvered the big man all the way in. She met him outside, prim and proper and ever so curious as she eyeballed the man in the trunk.

The grin Alastor gave her was precious, like a little boy in front of those pretty pine trees with the gifts underneath. Except it wasn't the colored bulbs on the tree that lit up his eyes. His were lit up with the promise of murder, at the excitement of spilling blood and heady power of his spirits as they withered away, their duty done and the offending streetlights once again brightening up to full power.

They closed the trunk together, fingers lacing together as Alastor pulled The Mare close with his other arm around her waist. She let him nose along her jawline, his lips ghosting along her flesh with barely there kisses as he swayed them to music only he could hear. She relaxed in his grip, enjoying the excited beat of his heart and the way his blood ran hot against her, every point of contact positively burning as he twirled them back onto the sidewalk.

"Let us go, my dear."

She never was so excited to get into that iron vehicle.

Before them the black of the bayou seemed to stretch on forever for he had turned the headlights off the moment they turned off the main path, letting the bright moonlight and Alastor's muscle memory lead them on. He hummed under his breath, fingers tapping lightly along the steering wheel as his mind kept slipping from the road.

Alastor was positively vibrating with excitement, his heart pounding in his chest hard and long enough that he vaguely wondered if he should be concerned about it as his age. But he couldn't really find it in him to care for his prey was in the trunk and his sweet Mare was sitting beside him, just as excited. From the corner of his eye he would see her vicious grin and the subtle flexing of her form as she struggled to contain herself.

His mind was filled with new ideas, new ways in which his Mare could be used asked politely to assist him. He had been scared when she disappeared, afraid someone would see her or him as she escaped his car but that fear had quickly turned to curiosity and then awe as he watched the flat shadow race up the brick wall and then watched a black cat step out from behind a potted plant.

He wouldn't deny the jealousy he felt at watching her, the ease in which she broke into houses and slipped easily in and out of shadow by her own power. What he wouldn't give to be able to wield the shadows that easily without having to beg his gods for temporary boosts in power that could be denied if he fell behind on his offerings. He disliked being under the whims of another. He wanted to be like her, powerful and stealthy and oh so confident in everything she did.

He faked it well enough. Enough to climb as high as he did as a black man anyways but there was always an undercurrent of fear beneath every action he performed, his mind racing for a million ways every single minor interaction could turn south for him, his fingers twitching and ready to fight his way out, his voice charming and boisterous or calm and demure as he needed to defuse tension and convince his enemies that he wasn't worth the time.

What he wouldn't give to see a time where the color of one's skin did not matter. His Mare would see those times as she saw the rise and fall of societies and he would be left behind in the dirt. He was envious, who wouldn't be? But he couldn't not find it in him to hold that mote of envy for more than a millisecond. She was his and he hers for what little time he had left on this planet and she was to help him in his minor crusade against the foul men that plagued his city. Her powers were his to borrow, her help appreciated and desired.

He had begun to feel nervous when The Mare didn't come to the window. He didn't think she had been hurt, not by Gregory, but he was worried something held her up. What surprises lurked in that shabby apartment? He was suddenly grateful he didn't try and climb up there himself.

And then he watched the front door crack open, flickering light spilling out onto the street as she beckoned him. He was nervous still, eyes wide and searching for looky-loos as he scuttled inside and tried to close the door quietly behind him. Of course his Mare cared not for stealth and lapped at him like an overgrown puppy, the door closing too loud behind him and making his heart jump into his throat.

In his panic he had batted her away, his nervous chuckle falling odd and flat in the darkened hallway. And then he had followed her up, never as silent as she but as quiet as he could be. Up and up and into the open apartment, his prey asleep and helpless in his armchair.

The rest was a blur. He remembered finding Gregory's wife in the bedroom, passed out on the floor from whatever beating her husband had given her. He locked the door and closed it gently, giving her some plausible deniability for when the police came poking around. She could say she locked herself in there for her safety, to escape the assault of her husband's fists after he knocked her tooth out.

Or something.

He didn't actually care.

He wanted Gregory. And oh, what a thrill it was to wake him for just that moment of recognition before the fear hit and the sedative worked its magic. He felt his spirits stir beneath them and he gave in to the call of his gods, asking for their power as he always did. He asked for the strength to move his prey and the ability to move quietly through the night, he asked for them to turn people's heads and give him the luck needed to serve them, to give them the life they desperately wanted.

It was another blur after that, his mind coming to when he closed the trunk and his Mare interlaced their fingers together. He brought her close, pressing her against his front as the pleasure of his borrowed power ebbed away and was replaced with giddy joy. He restricted the laughter in his throat and spun them around, pressing gentle kisses to her jaw as the shadows swirled around them, concealing the ruinous pair and giving them a moment of privacy before the itch began anew under his skin.

He was so close now. So close to ending the weeks long desire bubbling under the surface of his skin, the itch in his brain that made him see all the ways in which he could end people. Gone would be the pretty bruises on the grocer's throat, the bashed in temple of the butcher. He'd be able to see them as people again.

Until the next foul beast crossed his path.

Some handsy man in the dark alley next to Mimzie's speakeasy, their refusal to take 'no' for an answer and constant harassment of the barely adult girls who sang there, their eyes and heads filled with dreams of stardom. Maybe he'd catch the whisper of conversation from around the corner, some well-to-do threatening a colored woman and daring her to stand up for herself just so he could self-righteously teach her 'her place'. Perhaps he'd simply catch wind of another woman beater on the opposite side of town, another angry drunk to be taken care of and disposed of into the nearest dumpster.

He pulled up to the cabin sooner than he expected, mind distracted and ears ringing as he parked. He didn't even crack a joke, his jaw clenched tight in a twisted grin as he kicked the door open. Twice since the first kick was too hard and nearly slammed it back upon his shin. Behind him The Mare melted into the shadows, clothes dropping to the seat as she reverted to her favorite form, wings flapping excitedly as she pranced around the car, head tossing and snorting as she shrieked their combined excitement to the sky.

And what a beautiful night! Completely clear with the milky way in full display, a glittery ribbon of stardust slashed across the sky as if someone had cut into some god's throat, each sparkling star a drop of silver blood. The full moon loomed bright and large in the sky, as if eager herself to see the horrors Alastor would commit. Around them the frogs sang and the drone of the cicadas covered the sounds of Alastor pulling Gregory out of the trunk, grunting with each breath as he struggled without the supernatural help of his spirits.

The Mare took pity on him, using the claws at the ends of her wings to pick up their prey's ankles as Alastor led them, arms under its armpits, to The Shed. Each stumble of his jostled the man in his arms, his prey groaning in confusion as his eyes opened once before slipping back shut. Alastor cursed as he struggled to open the lock with one hand, back aching with the weight of the man. He had used too little sedative, too worried about the reaction between it and the alcohol that wafted off his prey. It had only taken one murder cut much too short to learn how badly they interacted and he did not want a repeat.

Not when he had an audience.

"Quickly, quickly," he whispered, desperately pulling his prey into the open door. The Mare followed obediently, dropping the ankles she held and finding herself a dark corner to settle in. Alastor scoffed, eyes rolling as he struggled under the full weight of his prey.

"Now you choose to be an observer?"

A mocking neigh answered him as she sat, rear end on the ground and wings slack, just barely hanging off the ground. "That's…," he grunted again as he slowly lowered Gregory to the ground, just under the rusting meat hook, "…incredibly rude." But then again, he was supposed to be showing her how he worked, showing off his skills and ingenuity and offering her a show.

"You're lucky I adore you," he snarked.

His hands were steady now, stabilized as he fell into the easy rhythm he had created so many murders ago. His heart no longer thudded in his chest uncontrollably, hurting his head and making his vision swirl. He was past that now. It still beat swiftly, a pounding against his thin rib cage but the pulse pulse pulse of it was comforting now, like the steady tempo of his favorite song.

He hummed along, head bobbing along as he uncoiled the long length of rope from its place on the wall. He twirled it along his hands, reveling in the light burn it left before he gripped it tightly, pulling it taut as he considered the best way to string up his new plaything.

He took this time to prep his tools, fingers dancing along his wall of choices before they fell upon his favorite. His most personal. The first set of knives he received from his father. The wooden handles worn with age were still pristine, kept oiled and polished and protected in their leather holster. The blades were razor sharp, their fine edge glinting in the low light of dimly lit lantern on the table. He tested the edge of his favorite, a large knife meant for cutting and hacking, and found it sharp enough to split the skin of his thumb with barely any pressure.

By the wrists, he decided, eager to have as much flesh to tear into as possible. It didn't take a single thought for him to wrap them up, his father's training on knots kicking in as it always did. Gregory stirred as his arms were jerked above his head, moaning softly as Alastor lowered the hook just enough to hook into the special loop he made for it.

Gregory stirred again as he was winched up until his heels lifted off the ground, head lolling as he struggled to shake off the alcohol and sedative. This was Alastor's favorite time, everything faded away to silence. Even the critters outside sensed what was about to happen and scurried away, the croak of the last frog seeming to echo within The Shed before blessed silence fell.

Pleasure thrummed through him as the crimson blood ran down his wrist and he licked the traces of it off the knife, careful as always to not cut himself unless he wanted to. He let himself by mesmerized by the rivulets that now reached his elbow, the first drops of blood to christen the newly thatched floor his own.

A groan from behind him caught his attention, eyes widening in surprise as if he had forgotten what he was doing. Well…he had. Blood was a fetish of his, sue him.

He grabbed his whetstone and leaned back against his workstation, the edge of it digging uncomfortably into his backside and otherwise grounding him as he watched his prey continue to struggle waking up. The knife did not need it but still he began the therapeutic process of sharpening it, letting the shlickshlickshlick of the edge lull him and calm him, his mind going blissfully blank again as he sharpened without thought, his eyes focused on the man before him.

There was little struggle at first, just the soft groans and moans of a man stirring from a long slumber. Then the eyes opened, blinking blearily into the dark as the heaviness of the sedative began to ebb away. A tongue reached out to lick dry lips, sticky saliva doing little to parch the dryness in the throat from a night of drinking. A stumble here, a stumble there as weak legs realized they finally had a body to hold.

Gregory's head lolled back, his control still limited as he squinted up at the rope around his wrists. A tug. Another tug. Then eyes widened as stark reality came crashing down around him and he began frantically tugging at the rope, yelping loudly as his thrashing caused him to loose his fragile balance and force all his weight upon his twisted shoulders.

"I wouldn't do that if I were youuuuu~~~!" Alastor's sing-song voice broke the silence and Gregory's head snapped up in his direction, eyes wild and pupils dilated as he struggled to see beyond the darkness of the shed and the lantern light behind his abductor's thin figure.

"You'll pull your shoulders out of their sockets long before that particular knot comes undone I'm afraid." Alastor lets his amusement bleed out into his voice, scraping his thumb against the sharpened blade and humming thoughtfully when it rasped against his skin instead of cutting it.

"P-please let me g-go I have m-m-money! A-a-a-and I won't say nothing about this…this…," Gregory's eyes slowly adjusted to the low light but still he could not make out the man standing before the lantern. "I don't even know where I am! Jus-just let me go and I'll…I'll…!"

"You'll what?" Venom dripped from Alastor's throat as he grabbed the lantern and strode towards his prey in three long strides, "Start going to church? Make donations to the orphanage?" He let his voice crack with his mocking and shoved the lantern in Gregory's sniveling face.

"Will you stop hitting your wife!?" Gregory's blubbering stilled, the snot and tears on his face real but the words were not. He did his best to peer around the lantern, head struggling through the haziness of the sedative to place the flamboyant cadence of that voice.

"So she sent you did she? Gonna teach me a lesson? Some prissy little bitch with his toy knife? Ha! You'd best be letting me go boy before I get out of this—!"

Gregory's taunts are cut short with a quick slice down his center, his clothes splitting cleanly as the knife sliced through them and straight to the skin beneath. The mark it left was only surface level, it barely even bled but it made its point well enough. The blade was sharp and the man wielding it knew how to use it.

"Care to try again? I don't mind the tough guy act but it really gets exhausting after awhile." The silver blade pushed aside the torn fabric, catching under the sleeves and slicing through each one until the shirt fell to pieces upon the straw floor. The lantern never left Gregory's face, only moving far enough with its owner's movements that he could tell his captor was dark-skinned and very thin.

"Stop playing with your lantern and show me your face boy. Stop being a pussy and—"

"And you'll what? Hit me? Knock my teeth out? I'm afraid you'll find me a lot harder to degradate you asanine dullard." Alastor moved slowly around his prey, eyes riveted to the fascinating way in which blood was slowly dripping down its sagging belly.

"The fuck you call me?"

"A dullard. Moron. Idiot. Imbecile," from behind Alastor leaned over his prey, chest to back as he spoke against his prey's ears. "Numskull. Half-wit. Nincompoop. Ninny. I could go on and on and on, shall I?"

Recognition sparked in his prey's eyes as he tried to turn his head, to catch a glimpse of his would be torturer as he finally began to place were he knew that voice from. "I know you! You're that uppity nggh—!!!"

Alastor punched him, the lantern barely registering to himself but no doubt burning Gregory's cheek as the hot glass collided with it. "Finish that sentence and I'll feed you your own cock." He watched idly as his prey swayed precariously, scrambling on tiptoe to find its balance, cursing all the while.

"Just you wait," Gregory huffed between steps as Alastor finally lowered the lantern and allowed himself to be seen, "When I get outta here I'll find you a nice tree to—"

Alastor was bored already. Racist drivel really lost its bite somewhere around the third kill. It was always the same tired routine: blah blah blah your daddy must've hated you, yadda yadda yadda I can kill you and get away with it, uh-huh, you'll never amount to anything but Creole trash yes sir, my grandpappy had a wallet made with skin like yours, yeesh morbid but better than the uninspired nonsense he heard over and over and over again.

So, somewhere around when Gregory was threatening to make a "visit" to Alastor's mother and giving her a son she could be "proud of" (Seriously? The kid would still be mixed. Critical thinking was apparently not Gregory's strong suite.) and gearing up for his next dull round of insults, Alastor sunk the knife into his shoulder.

And oh! What a sweet sound that was! The knife ran straight through, lodging itself deep into the joint as Gregory screamed. The whimpers came next, the beginning of each a sob as Alastor had to wrench the knife back and forth a few times before he was able to pull it out.

"There, you see what you made me do?" Alastor giggled as he held the blade towards the lantern, playing with the glint of the light as he wobbled it. "Ah well, I forgive you. Since you sang so sweetly for me."

Gregory began to whimper again, in fear, blue eyes so wide and so focused on the knife Alastor now waved around, a bloody conductor's baton to the little ditty he hummed as he placed the lantern down.

"Oh? Serial killer got your tongue?" Another wave of laughter as Alastor put the knife down and chose a smaller one, a thinner one meant for flaying.