It was exactly 6:12 in the evening.

Hannibal knew this because as he prepared for Alana's arrival, he kept glancing at the nearest clock. Each check on the passing of time turned his mood darker and darker and unfortunately for him, this was occurring in frequent one-minute intervals which wasn't doing the ache in his chest any favors. Each one was like a chisel chipping away just a little more of his restraint, a little more of his carefully built character.

6:13 now.

Standing before the full-length mirror in his dimly lit bedroom, the Alpha flicked his gaze away from the numerals on his ornate desk clock and back to the tie which he was expertly weaving around his neck. He barely saw it. Up, around, through the loop, back again. Years of practice and familiarity with the accessory made the task effortless, mechanical. The silk crimson number slipped through his fingers like water but it may as well have been a noose spun from rough twine.

He was going to betray his Omega. The idea stung more than he thought it would and he wished he were engaged in a more complicated chore so that he could focus on something other than Will's face. It proved impossible; those baby blues wouldn't stop staring.

His reflection, hooded in shadow, glared back at him in disgust. The dinner preparations had all been made; vegetables had been chopped, cooked, and seasoned; sauces mixed and left to set; fine cuts of meat were roasting, and knives were sharp and ready. An exquisite meal had been carefully cultivated and the savory aroma filled the house. However, the motive behind such laborious attention was borne from want of distraction rather than the desire to impress.

More courses had been prepared than were necessary. Two full trays of delicate hors de 'oeuvres, half a dozen appetizers, three main dishes, and an impressive dessert selection were waiting to be served. Hannibal had primed enough food to have them eating for hours, an alternative substantially preferred to having to interact physically with Alana. The act of cooking was a welcome occupation to divert his mind from such a distasteful prospect, but the time came when he realized that if he kept at it, he would have enough to feed a small party.

She was arriving shortly and there was nothing left to do but wait. Usually the hours before a murder were spent in calm anticipation but this was something different.

The Alpha had been growing more uneasy by the moment and mild nausea started churning behind his navel. Instinctively he reached for the wine glass he had been nursing and took a deep draught. Normally he didn't condone the use of drugs or chemicals to deal with unpleasant emotions, but tonight rational thinking was taking a cheerful trip to the back burner. His treachery, not yet complete but well on its way, was burning away the outer layers of his sanity. It was revealing the bare bones of instinct beneath, nothing but animalistic drive and need that hated everything that was about to happen.

Acting on basic principle, he had refused to pick up the Beta and bring her to his home. Cleaning scent out of vehicle upholstery was a nightmare and the idea of soiling the inside of his BMW with hers, weak as it was, made him cringe. Sheets were much easier to launder and he didn't want the reminder of his transgression every time he got behind the wheel, therefore the polite excuse of car trouble as well as a convincing apology that she would have to drive herself had been delivered.

As he cozied up the knot of the tie to his bared throat, he tried to ignore the rolling in his stomach at the idea of touching her. Unlike his previous exchanges with Will, it wasn't going to be easy.

XXX

As Will sped down his driveway in a spray of gravel and snow, his foot nearly slamming the gas pedal through the floor of his Prius, he kept telling himself he wasn't crazy.

Sure, threatening clouds had gathered eagerly above and snow was already beginning to fall, but what did that matter? So what if darkness was steadily gaining and the temperature was dropping? Despite the obvious warnings of a nasty storm, the only thing Will had managed to don before stumbling out of the house was Hannibal's scarf.

It was wrapped so thickly around his neck it was as if he were wearing a brace. As soon as he had stepped foot in his house after the unsuccessful mission to retrieve his phone, the scarf's scent had stolen what little critical thinking he had left and positively demanded that he find its source. Powerless to resist and exhausted from searching, he had obeyed his shaking body and grabbed his keys. Now, as he sat behind the wheel with Hannibal's lingering scent tying his brain into knots, he knew he was on the right track.

Skidding onto solid pavement, his bloodshot eyes locked on the road with a feverish determination that bordered on unstable. If he couldn't talk to his Alpha through his phone, he would talk with his Alpha through his face instead. The abstract thought struck him as terribly funny and a giggle escaped him; a wild, muffled sound as half his head was swathed in soft cashmere.

Just the idea of talking face-to-face with the male was intoxicating and Will wished he could urge his car faster through the steadily descending night. Not a moment was spent thinking of the incivility and inappropriateness of driving over an hour through a storm to visit an Alpha uninvited, ill-dressed (he had forgotten his jacket and was fairly certain he was only wearing one sock), and all while twitching in the throes of a heat fever which was clearly claiming his sanity.

Any plan or strategy for when he arrived was met with equal disregard; such incongruous behavior would certainly be overlooked by the master of the house who would no doubt welcome him into his home with open arms. Will would graciously accept, and then Hannibal's pants would fall off.

But no, he wasn't crazy.

The better part of an hour was spent in this way; near-animalistic anticipation blending with wince-worthy cramps. As time passed, the shaking intensified and he was acutely aware of his guts which were happily rearranging themselves behind his navel. It really was incredible that he managed to drive so far under such physical distress. If it wasn't for the monstrous black stag that was following him, he would have made it to Baltimore without incident.

He had just entered the outskirts of the city and was speeding through a dark limbo between street lights when the beast stepped in front of his car. Its huge form was illuminated for one flashing second by the headlights and the sight of it jolted Will out of his hormonal stupor.

"Shit-!" he barely had time to curse before yanking the steering wheel to the left and slamming on the brakes. The Prius spun into a violent fishtail and the Omega could do nothing but hold on. Slick from the freshly-fallen snow, the asphalt was now an ice rink.

It happened in slow motion – for one vivid moment Will saw the stag standing off to the side, antlered head held high as it watched the vehicle's progress, before his attention was gently redirected to a well-placed concrete median in the middle of the road. It was the only thing that prevented him from sailing into the opposite ditch, but its safety came at a price. It arrested the car's movement with one abrupt crunch which knocked Will's skull against the side of his window, shattering his vision into bursts of color. Then he knew only darkness.

A few moments passed in a dreamy state of detachment while his consciousness resurfaced. Or maybe it was hours. Nothing seemed real, from the sound of his thudding heartbeat in his ears to the strange ache in his head. What had happened? The dripping of liquid seconds brought more lucidity; swerving to avoid hitting the animal...the crash...mild surprise that he has gotten into the accident at all. In all his years of driving, he had never been in one. Glowing lights in his dashboard told him everything was A-OK captain, and he figured that if he could read the little orange numbers his brain was still somewhat functional. So, that was a plus. But where had the stag gone?

As if answering his thoughts, the sound of heavy hooves approaching made him lift his eyes to the passenger side window.

The creature was staring back at him through the glass, unblinking and terrible. There was a disturbing disconnect between hearing it and seeing it; not enough time seemed to have passed for it to have reached the car so quickly. Will felt too far away to respond appropriately even though he knew he should be losing his shit; usually when nightmarish creatures were looming mere feet from you, it was cause for concern. However, his body felt sluggish and his fight-or-flight had taken a swift vacay. He could do little more than stare.

Ethereal breath fogged before the huge snout as it exhaled. He felt the warmth of it within the car and the scent curiously reminded him of Hannibal. His eyes slid closed and he breathed in spiced whiskey and solace. In a rush, the intimate memories of being alone with him ignited his blood. Heat bloomed to life in his chest, sharpening his grip on reality, and the sudden flush that erupted over his skin made him shiver. He was already within Baltimore's city limits. His Alpha was close.

A quick glance out his own window showed him the damage was not as severe as he expected; his car's left headlight was smashed and the bumper looked like it had taken a beating but that seemed to be the extent of it. His air bag hadn't even deployed. Turning his gaze back towards the snowy road, he saw the cluster of lights that signaled civilization and gritted his teeth.

The tires of his beaten Prius squealed as he hit the gas and shot off back into the night. Already the images of the stag were fading. The broken headlight and sagging bumper didn't seem to deter the car from going along at its usual gusto, which at the moment Will felt that he could relate to. Sustaining a significant blow to the head and seeing large, spooky deer hadn't stopped him from getting back on the road, even though he knew his next stop probably should have been a hospital. Whatever. The only doctor he wanted to see had a voice of honey and a touch that would offer more than pain relief.

As he ate up the dwindling miles, memories of his nightmarish visitor were replaced by images of his Alpha. Trembling hope kept him conscious even as his head pounded and the mere idea of seeing him in the flesh was enough to keep his foot firmly on the pedal. Too engrossed in getting to the male in a timely manner, Will didn't notice the warm blood trickling through his hair and down the side of his neck. Even if he did, it would have changed nothing.

XXX

"Good evening, Alana. You're right on time. Please, come in."

Hannibal was the very picture of courtesy and graciousness as he welcomed the Beta into his home, even though he inwardly withered as a cold gust of wind blasted him with the artificial tang of scent-enhansors. She had obviously bathed in them. No matter; all visible distress had been curbed adequately and his familiarity with receiving guests did away with any remaining signs of unease. The wine had also helped.

He was the perfect gentleman, even brushing his lips against the back of her hand in greeting. Holding his breath was the only way that was possible and he dared not let slip an indication that he was anything less than interested; she had willingly wandered into his trap and he had only to pull the cord. The tightening of his smile when he straightened was the only hint of the disturbance of his mind. Alana, too flustered with the intimate gesture and silently amazed that she had landed such a specimen, failed to notice it.

"It's quite the storm out there," she stated as she handed Hannibal her coat. "I almost lost control on the turnoff. I've never driven myself into a ditch before but I hate to admit how close I got."

"We are safe up until the moment we're not. It's that simple," he replied, looking at her significantly. "All it takes is the work of a second for everything to turn on you. Let's hope you are in the clear."

Her uncertain laugh of reply was music to his ears.

As the Alpha led her through the entranceway and into his kitchen, engaging in necessary but tedious small talk, he realized this was going to be much more difficult than he had imagined. It was obvious Alana had spent considerable time and effort preparing for the evening. If her scent and demure looks didn't give it away, her outfit certainly had; a slim red number and heels suggested that she expected the evening to end not with a kiss goodnight but a kiss good morning, and Hannibal couldn't have been less disinterested. However, he conceded that it would only make things easier in the long run which would hasten the murder of Mr. Froideveux, an act that was now feeling very much like a chore. At this point he just wanted it over and done with.

As he sat Alana down at his elaborate dining table and began serving her beer, he allowed himself a moment's pleasure. The lager he had selected for her was expensive, imported, and spiked with human blood. Being a rich red ale with a fantastic flavor profile, it blended well with the additional ingredients and she would never know his secret. Nonetheless, it was still a source of dark satisfaction to see her take a sip and smile.

Dinner was a drawn-out affair. Hannibal pressed his guest to try every dish and hear her opinion on each one, all while eating very little himself. Unsurprisingly, his appetite appeared to have escaped him. She obliged most readily; everything was praised and complimented with an enthusiasm that plainly spoke of her interest, and she dropped him shameless glances every time she took a bite of something particularly decadent. Upon such attentions he managed a convincing display of graciousness but the effort was draining.

He kept her engaged with talk of work, politics, and current events while smoothly diverting conversation from anything personal about himself. This was proving difficult; Alana kept throwing meaningful glances and trying to ask about his life outside of the bureau. Years of psychiatry and social engineering prepared him well for deflecting these advances, but it was still irritating to be poked and prodded at for information. The only lingering enjoyment he received was the knowledge that she had enjoyed a full glass of beer and a number of human delicacies, blissfully unaware of the grisly nature of what she was consuming.

Throughout the meal, essentially from start to finish if he was being honest with himself, Hannibal couldn't help but imagine Will in her place. The vision was inescapable; how differently would he be feeling if he were sitting opposite the Omega right now? Surely the contrast would be great. Firstly, he knew Will wouldn't have pressed for private details. He was reserved, valued privacy, and would have found such verbal nudging as annoying as the Alpha did. Secondly, he would smell infinitely better.

"...Will Graham."

The pause he took while sipping his wine was unconsciously done, the first crack in in his well-molded exterior. Conscious that he must have misheard the last part of what Alana had actually said, he calmly set the glass down without meeting her eyes.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was just saying how surprised I was to get your invitation," Alana resumed, oblivious to his lapse of control as she buttered a freshly-baked croissant. "To be perfectly frank, I was under the impression that you and Will Graham might be an item."

She glanced up from her task with a flirtatious expression that gave away her confidence on the subject; she clearly sought an answer to the contrary.

Hannibal's blood had frozen upon hearing her words and for a moment he struggled inwardly on his reply. Hesitation would most certainly not do, for Alana would surely take this as a sign of resignation and unwillingness to admit the truth. A stab of anger cut through him; she had no right to ask such things. Trying to ignore the familiar pain in his chest, he adopted an amused expression that he hoped was convincing enough.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, Will said you had given your scarf –"

"Purely therapeutic, I assure you, Alana. Mr. Graham has reasons for needing it, and I'd rather not discuss my patients when I have such lovely company before me."

Resounding force of will kept the malice out of his voice and morphed it into something that sounded sincere. The Beta accepted the compliment and considered herself flattered; it was all Hannibal could do to keep his temper in check. Will's therapy, or anything to do with Will's personal life, was completely off-limits to this female. Despite being a successful psychiatric consultant herself, she had no business nosing around in his affairs or the affairs of his Omega.

Another draught of wine grounded him somewhat. He was getting territorial again, and such thoughts were dangerous. He had to force himself to focus on entertaining and pleasing Alana instead of losing himself in the memory of where he truly wanted to be.

When the time came for dessert to be served, Hannibal's distress increased. Their night was drawing towards some kind of close, and in what manner that would be depended on his ability to keep it together. He could only keep pressing single-bite toffee puddings and delicate powdered doughnuts on her for so long, and eventually she would get a headache from all the rich coffee he insisted on pouring.

As she finished the last bite of a mini-cheesecake with raspberry coulis, he was just about suggest she try a cup of herbal tea when she declared herself completely full and unable to eat or drink anything else. Upon her words, a cold flush that felt uncomfortably like dread swept through him. If he wanted to fill his freezer with the best parts of his plump client, the time to act was now.

With a dark gaze he rose from the table and offered his hand to Alana, who took it with a smile.