Through The Dark Side

Relm offered him no resistance as he reached for her cloak, one sharp claw hooking around the knot tied in it and swiftly tugging it loose. The strings fell away, and as the cloak began to slide down her shoulders, Alastor felt a damp paw catch his own. He peered back to Relm, gazing at her silently while she pleaded with him not to say anything. Then she looked up in his eyes and said that she loved him. Alastor felt what little parts of his heart that could still feel emotion ache. Not because he didn't feel the emotional connection between them also, but because he hadn't intended to bring these painful emotions to Relm. His heart and soul belonged to Manea; he could never offer them to her. But that didn't mean he didn't care for the pink fae any less because of it. Surely if there was anything he could call love left in his blackened heard and twisted soul, this was the closest thing to it, was it not?

"I love you too, Relm," said Alastor in his deep baritones that seemed to rumble as he spoke. He was still staring at her, but Relm had looked away already. It didn't bother him. What did bother him however was when Relm guided his paw to her throat, his paw pads grazing over the rough scabs on her neck where she had been bitten, and quite savagely. Like a strike of a match, Alastor's rage was incensed. Black eyes widened with a feral violence, ebony lips peeling away from sharp fangs in a silent snarl for a split second. Relm continued to reveal more of herself, moving her cloak aside for him. His paw trailed from her neck down over her shoulder, feeling similar healing scabs in long lines down her body—just like the ones he'd left on her a few seasons ago. He couldn't see them beneath her dark fur and the dim moonlight, but he sure as hell could feel them. His paws followed them up, running his digits through her thick scruff to find even more scabs in thicker clusters—healing wounds from teeth in her flesh. Someone had hurt Relm.

Alastor was glad he hadn't made a promise to not say anything, because he was definitely about to break it. "Who?" The singular word framed in a question was spoken through a barely contained growl. Alastor felt torn between a compulsive need to protect Relm from anyone and everyone who wanted to harm her, and the primal urge to go hunt down the motherfucker that had made the fatal mistake of laying a paw on a wolf he was safeguarding. The animal inside danced and regaled at the prospect of getting fresh wolf blood on its tongue again. It had been oh so long since he'd last tasted it with Kefka's murder. Now it seemed he was due up for an encore performance.

"Alastor"