#feracovina

      The brow over his left eye rose, mouth moving slowly into a smirk before Cristov’s tongue flicked over his lower lips, defiance lacing his pale blue eyes as he let them wander slowly over the brunette’s features. Weighing the subtle, although it would be denied he was sure, challenge the witch had offered Cristov; of course, she had called him out for doing exactly as he was doing the second the words had left her lips. “Ahh, yeah,” Cristov breathed, slipping a few steps closer to her because he was burning to do so, he couldn’t NOT take up her challenge, “but you’re the one that’s ALWAYS challenging me.” He was close now, probably too close, it would make Viktor uncomfortable. But Cristov wasn’t trying to make Viktor uncomfortable, it was Teddy.

    “Well, well, well--- It’s been quite a few moons since I’ve seen you Ted.” The tall man all but cooed, a fond and teasing smile tugging at his lips as he shifted around in his chair and leaned back, motioning for the brunette to take a seat in the chair in front of his somewhat messy desk. “To what do I owe this fantastic honor? Those Russians treating you well?” He was a man of information, of knowledge and with that came danger and respect and power. Leo was no snitch, but he certainly wasn’t afraid to partner up with a bounty hunter if it brought in some good profits.  

          Cristov shifted and shot a glance over his shoulder, scowling mildly at the brunette who was tied up with him as well, a scoff like grunt emitting from his lips. “Alright, badass, talk your way out of this one.” He quipped, squirming slightly at his restraints, with no avail, of course, he wasn’t really going to try and remove the binds. But that didn’t mean he wasn't irked that they’d managed to get themselves in this sort of situation. If only Viktor knew half the shit Cristov got Teddy in, he was sure that his eldest brother would ‘ground’ them both. The thought brought a half smirk to his lips before he looked over his other shoulder and spoke again. “C’mon, you're the resident witch, here.” In other words he was gonna pick a fight with Teddy until they had managed to waltz back into the mansion covered in blood and dirt. 

A small noise of what very well could have been annoyance left Luciano’s lips as he barely even looked up at the other presence in the facility, he just knew they were there and since this was somewhere he didn’t want to be seen it was a bit of a problem. Finishing up the text message he was plucking out to one of the jobs he’d just finished, the scent of copper still hanging around him to anyone who had a better sense of smell than a normal human, made that obvious.

“I’m sorry, ragazza, this is a private bar, invitation only.”

He was referring to the fact that he was the only demon here, this was his domain, so to speak. He’d fought to keep it and this little bar in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere might have been a piece of shit but Luciano had marked it as his own. The other demons understood that, why didn’t this one get it? 

Glancing up it finally registered why, half-blood, oh, that was amusing. Another noise left his lips as he eyed the young woman who had only registered to him prior to actually seeing her.  “Ahh, I see--” If she were not fully corrupt with her dark blood then there was a chance she didn’t know.  “Ciao, bella cugino.”

Violence,

             it was the very thing that drove Cristov often times, it didn’t always show, it was there, underneath the charm and dashing good looks, the cool way he presented himself in an arrogant and pompous manner. It was the blood that flowed through his veins, the heat that radiated from his person in an instant to strike down anything that stood in his path. It was drilled into him at an early age, carved into his very being by his mother and it was something he practiced well into his adulthood. This was certainly a good example of that. 

He hadn’t really been stalking her, he had simply been at the same bar as her and this other guy, it could have been blamed on the alcohol and that likely was what Cristov would use, it was always a good cop out. It was better than letting people know what he was really capable of doing, Viktor would never let him hear the end of it, exposing them all with what he was really trained to do. 

How he got to this point was a little fuzzy, or rather, Cristov really wasn’t thinking about it, he was past the point of no return. Vision a bit blurry, but whether it was from the alcohol or the blood that was starting to fleck across his face, he wasn’t too sure. His fists were bruised and he had to give it to the other guy, the dude was putting up a pretty good fight, but it was a losing fight. 

Red, 

      everything was red, his vision, his fists, and the man’s fucking face as it started to swell from the level and hard blows the Russian was producing. After a few more Cristov staggered back, not because he wanted to stop but because the other man stopped moving. The dark haired man slumped back against the wall behind him before he scowled, wiping at the blood on his face. His breath came in short huffs, trying to steady his heartbeat but the alcohol was still working on his brain. Making it only partially difficult to compose himself, but then again, Cristov wasn’t the best at keeping himself in check. With a shaking hand, knuckles busted and bruised from beating the shit out of the man on the floor, Cristov finally dared a glance at the woman who he had done this for. She wouldn’t see it that way, he was sure, and now that he looked at her he realized how this very well could have ruined everything. But he was good at that, destroying any chances he had with the people who brought him any kind of happiness. This would be no different.

It was dark and late, the rain was pouring outside and as the Irishman made his way into the latest location where the fights were to be, Lance shook the rain from his jacket, pale blue eyes scanning the crowd to judge just how well the fights were this evening. From the hustling that Lance caught in subtle exchanges and the rowdy comments coming from closer to the action it seemed to be a good night. This set his nerves on edge, prepared for something that might come, he hadn’t fought in some time, moving from place to place and especially doing his best to keep away from the supernatural side of the world. But sometimes he rolled back into it for the sake of his sanity, it was lonely out there where no one knew what he was and if they did, often enough, they wanted him dead. At least in a place like this they all were hunted and haunted. Here pasts didn’t matter, all that mattered was the amount of destruction you could dish out with a clenched fist and not using your powers. 

If Lance had become anything since he was still a human it was a weapon, amazing how he could be the most golden and sunshine-like person yet be so bent on hate and violence. The man couldn’t live without it, sure, he told himself it was to keep the beast within at peace, to balance things out. At least he didn’t kill anymore, not for money, he’d left that life behind many decades ago. But he still craved that side of him. It was there, hidden within his bright and adoring blue eyes as he moved around the curve of the crowd that stood around the fight. Sliding between bodies to get closer, the smell of sweat, testosterone, and blood hung thick in the air. Lance was familiar with these places, more than he might like to admit, it was more than that, however, it was the place he knew the best. When he was in that ring, face to face with another creature that wanted to make him bleed just as much as he wanted to feel the pain, it was the closest to home he could get. 

Sad, that he found such comfort in the violence, but everyone had their demons. Lance had more than he would like to admit, more than he acknowledged when he put on that charming front to keep people at arms length. It hadn’t always been this way, he hadn’t always worn such a beautiful facade, but he never really did allow people to fully know him. 

The Irishman had luck in a lot of things, but love was not one of them, he had a wall, mostly he told himself it was to keep people safe from him. Taking on lovers in doses opposed to settling down like he always wanted. But what was the point when he was nothing but a masked man of violence? No matter where or what he was doing, it all ended in pain and loneliness. Even now, as he made his way through the crowd, pulling a flask from his jacket to take a swig of liquid courage, not that he really needed it. The pulsation of the crowd was strong that night, Lance got an elbow or two to the gut before he even broke through to the middle of the crowd surrounding the cage where two tortured souls fought. He stole a glance into the ring to see better but only caught movements, the flash of a swing and the roar of the crowd as another blow was landed, it didn’t phase him, if he could find the teller he would be in that ring in the next hour or so beating the red out of some poor bloke. Lance was many things, a gentleman, a seeker of justice, a lover of broken souls like him– but he was best as a beast, taking blows was easy, giving them back ten fold was no problem, living with his past, that was a different story. 

So he used these events to forget, this was more effective than drinking, although he did that for the same reason. There was something about fighting that kept him sane, amazing, really, how a man so full of love, a man who could love so hard could be so red with violence. It was in his blood after all, in a way, it was the best way to keep himself from becoming that monster. The one he killed so many centuries ago, the night still haunted him, Lance still woke up from night terrors fighting off an unseen assailant that plagued his dreams. The fighting helped. Made him so exhausted he had no choice but to sleep.

Another wave of cheers broke out as there was a slam into the fencing that kept the fighters inside the ring and Lance moved a little closer to get a better look. Suddenly, he was pulled into an arm lock, someone’s hand going to his hair before he was pushed back and he put a hand on the person's body to keep that distance until he realized it was simply his buddy. They weren’t really friends, just acquaintances who made each other a lot of money when bets went around. “You knock ‘em dead tonight, my Irish friend.” The man said before he ruffled Lance’s hair and slapped him on the arm fairly hard. Lance chuckled, nodding in affirmation that he would do his best, but they both knew he was one of the best BEASTS in the ring on any good night.

              “I demand cuddles and kisses,” her voice was slightly challenging but playful none the less, Lana always knew what she wanted and at the moment, she wanted affection. A half smirk pressed at her lips as she let her light gaze flick over to Max to gauge his reaction. “And don’t you DARE say shit, I can still change my mind and kick your ass.” It was a cover for her slightly vulnerable declaration for affection, however, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t kick his ass if she wanted to.