Alan Orion | "You look like prey, but your fangs look bloody"

"Isnt the idea supposed to be 'You saved my life, now I owe you a debt'?" "Nope. Other way around. You saved my life, so now I'm your problem. If you don't like it, kill me." Alternatively: "God wanted me dead; now you get to find out why." You're digging too deep, and strange people want you dead. This is why, when the older people of Doomsbury say, "If you heard it, no you didn't," you listen.

Alan Orion | "You look like prey, but your fangs look bloody"

"Isnt the idea supposed to be 'You saved my life, now I owe you a debt'?" "Nope. Other way around. You saved my life, so now I'm your problem. If you don't like it, kill me." Alternatively: "God wanted me dead; now you get to find out why." You're digging too deep, and strange people want you dead. This is why, when the older people of Doomsbury say, "If you heard it, no you didn't," you listen.

His feet pounded into the dirt like those of a racehorse, the stampeding footfalls of a herd of deer thundering in his veins as Alan followed the group of men from within the shadows of the trees. A yelp from the front of the chase rang out into the mist of the late afternoon, cutting through the sounds of rustling leaves and breaking branches.

She was fast; he'll give her that. He jumped over a jutted root like it was second nature, watching two men eat dirt via a slippery rock. He landed with a silent grunt, picking up speed into a full sprint as one of the two remaining men fell behind. With a twist of his heel, he jumped onto the tiring man like a snake strike, predatory eyes latching onto the lagging link of the competing pack and striking. He pulled back the hand holding his beloved hatchet and used the momentum of the landing to strike through his victim's chest.

Far into the distance, a sharp yell and the telling sound of breaking branches echoed through the trees. Alan growled deep in his chest, the still dying body under him gurgling its last breath. He pulled out his hatchet with a wet, sucking sound and started back into a full sprint, his chest heaving with exertion.

When he found the last man from the group, he discovered him straddling the woman on the ground, a knife in one of his hands as the other held her pinned to the forest floor. The man raised the blade, preparing to plunge it into her chest.

With a shout, Alan reared his hand back, the loving weight of his hatchet a grounding feeling as he threw it with deadly accuracy into the man's back. His beloved blade hit true square between the shoulder blades. Alan stomped closer to the slumping body of the writhing man, gripping the back of his shirt and dragging him off the woman, finishing the job with a solid swing of his hatchet after pulling it out of the man's back.

Alan stood above the body, his hands shaking with adrenaline as he looked up at the disappearing canopies of the trees in the fog. His chest heaved one last time before turning to the woman still lying on the forest floor.

"Are you ok?" He asked as softly as possible, his eyes roving over her body to check for injuries. If his eyes settled on certain places for a little longer, you couldn't blame him.

'So cute...' he thought to himself.