It's Cold And It's Broken

Sharp siam claws had managed to find purchase in Relm's warm, supple flesh, and as his hulking form tumbled to the earth, so too did his opponent's. Alastor hit the ground and threw his weight in the same direction as his momentum, bringing Relm along with him as he rolled until he had her body pressed to the ground beneath him. He planted his paws on either side of her with one massive black paw held firmly to her chest. She snarled, and he snarled back, Stygian lips peeled back from pearly white fangs in a wordless command to submit, which to his surprise she did. In her own way, of course. Relm ceased her fight, surrendering to him when she knew he'd beaten her. No words were exchanged, but the volumes spoken by their body language did all the conversing for them.

Alastor was breathing heavy, a side effect of a good fight, while obsidian eyes stared down at the young woman. Her ears pulled back and the fight left her body, and so too did Alastor's. Gradually he relaxed his paw on top of her, but didn't separate the contact immediately. This was the closest they'd gotten since that day and for the first time in a long time he didn't feel the immediate need to pull away from her or avoid her. The awkward tension around them forgotten in the heat of the spar, allowing him to let go and just exist around her without fear of reprisal or harm to her. That's perhaps what had been most difficult for him in the days after their failed coupling. Not that he'd let himself go on her like that—but that he'd known she hadn't enjoyed it and couldn't control himself to stop. He'd hurt her and he didn't know how to make it right.

Maybe avoiding her was his way of showing he cared about her in his own twisted way. Alastor wasn't a normal brute by any means; he didn't feel emotions right, he wasn't in control in his baser moments, and often times he felt like there were two consciousnesses within his brain battling each other. But with Relm it was different. She'd seen both sides of him—in control and feral—and she'd still come to mend things with him. Slowly, Alastor slid his paw down her chest, over her side, and then set it back on the ground beside her. He didn't remove himself right away, but his expression did soften as did his posture. He couldn't say the words out loud, but the look in his eyes silently thanked her for seeing him as something other than a monster—something only two other wolves had done before her.

"Alastor Mendacium"