Episode Seven: Here kitty, kitty, kitty

The purple nightsaber paced high above Cutthroat Alley. Artfully, slender paw was placed before slender paw. The cat had mere inches of rooftop on which to maneuver, but that didn't matter. Alessandre could have been walking on a tight rope at the Darkmoon Faire and he'd have more room to pace than this. Always he was part rogue and part feral druid. He achieved an inconceivable grace, an impossibly delicate stealth. Perhaps others in his profession might admire him for it, or more than likely, try to profit from his unique powers somehow… but Alessandre loathed himself. Why? Because he couldn't think, he couldn't be any more than what he was. And right now, he heard the heartbeat of a man stories below him. The assassin in him knew about the jugular vein, the feral druid in him could sense the blood rushing through that humanoid… could taste it. It was salty sweet, and painful to ignore.

Alessandre growled low, shook his neat streamlined jowls, grimaced… he could resist it couldn't he? But the Blood Elf Faltheriel had gone. There was no greater predator here, and no reason to resist. He was safe to indulge, to overpower this other man. And he knew what that felt like, to have the power of a god…

"I hear somethin' Charlie." The man with a sandy blonde beard nodded at a stretch of naked alley behind them.

His friend laughed. "He's an idiot then, if you can hear him. Next, you'll be seein' him too. Hey you! Come out!"

Charlie was drunk. "Shh! Charlie, you're not thinkin' right at the moment. Don't let him know we're on to him or we'll never get to kill the guy. Besides, he's probably just picking pockets, the poor bastard. I bet you scared him away."

But Alessandre wasn't scared. He was crouched right behind the man with the sandy beard. It would be so easy to pounce on him now, kill him fast, but what was the fun in that? He sneaked back to the place where the two men watched the shadows, the place where Alessandre had been a sloppy sneak… on purpose.

Then, Alessandre decloaked.

"A druid! You furry bastard! This place ain't for your kind. What's wrong with you people, thinking you can do the work of a rogue… well you ain't got the training. No one's gonna' hire you to filch anything, or take anybody out, you here? Now, get out of our alley!" the sandy bearded man shouted.

There were others in the alley as well. Of course they had been watching. Rogues always watched everything, especially when they appeared to be absorbed in their own business. Now, they turned their eyes to the lone nightsaber.

Alessandre was laughing inside. He stretched, and yawned while the bearded man and the others shouted insults at him. A flash of green on his right. Not druid magic, a bottle… Alessandre dodged the object thrown at him. He did not turn his head toward the attacker, but roved his ear around in that direction. A man who breathed too fast, and lived on the edge of his nerves.

You'll be next. Alessandre sat down.

"What are you waitin' for? An invitation? Leave!" the sandy bearded man shouted again.

Alessandre was waiting for it, the inevitable joke they always made. He needed that to get the rush he wanted.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty." The drunk man called Charlie knelt and beckoned to Alessandre. Inside Alessandre was smiling. Charlie laughed and drew his dagger, but he never got back to his feet.

"Charlie!" his friend shouted.

Alessandre roared and charged in. His delicate purple paw flashed claws the color shimmering moonlight. He ripped through the humble leather armor in seconds, clawed through to the flesh. His nightsaber self did not know about the delicate organs just beyond. But the assassin in him knew about the liver, how to reach up imbetween the third and fourth rib to get to the heart.

Charlie was dead before he even knew it.

A shining glint of steel flashed in Alessandre's field of vision, but he easily parried it with his claw.

"You're gonna' die for that! Charlie was my friend!" the sandy haired man hollered at the Alesasndre but missed. His opponent cast something on himself and seemed to fade into the background. It caused him to evade nearly every attack that Alessandre tried. Men hiding in the shadows around the alley got quiet. No doubt they would rush in and take shots at the druid if he proved weak against one of their own.

This was a terrible time to lose face. Alessandre shifted into his bear form, swiped a huge paw at the dodging man and succeeded in stunning him in place. Then, he shifted back into cat form so fast that if one would miss the bear if he blinked. Then Alessandre clawed and raked at the man, swiped at him, shifted out again to stun him once more, and then immediately back. He paced, self satisfied as the man doubled over helplessly and simply stood there bleeding to death.

The rogue's heart raced as he watched. Inside, he was screaming with the orgasm of the slow death. But he needed something else to perfect this moment… the bottle-thrower.

But when Alessandre turned to find the man, he'd gone. Alessandre couldn't exactly think in his cat form but he knew from experience that rogues couldn't stealth away that fast… the man must still be nearby.

As the sandy-bearded man coughed up more blood, Alessandre worked fast to time the last murder perfectly. A rouge might depend on the environment to give his quarry away. Grass wilted by footsteps, men who jumped out of the way as a stealthed stranger sneaked boldly past them could reveal an invisible enemy. However, none of the rogues here were willing to give up one of their own. That was when being a druid came in handy. Alessandre stalked over to the glass bottle that shattered a few feet away, and inhaled a deep breath of its owner's scent.

With his second kill stunned and still dying, Alessandre shifted quickly into his rogue form and vanished before anyone realized what was going on. He needed to escape combat. Then, with the scent of the man still in his Night Elf nostrils, he found the man he wanted in a matter of moments. The bottle thrower had paused at the only makeshift entrance and exit to Cutthroat Alley. It was a kicked in door at the back of an abandoned shop. The man knew the cat was coming for him but couldn't understand how it had disappeared, so he waited.

But Alessandre would murder the man who lay in wait for him, faster than anyone would see. But Alessandre would see, and he would know. Alessandre got right up behind the man, poised with the dagger. His heart raced as he eyed the incapacitated victim a ways down the alley, still bleeding into the moonlit pool at his feet. In his mind he counted the seconds he had left…

Five until his improved stealth wore off, four until the bleeding man ran out of life, three until he was ready for the ambush…

Two piercing screams filled the air at once, and all the rogues in the alley who could stealthed and hid themselves from the three gruesome murders. Alessandre barely caught the glint of his decloaked dagger as it ripped through the other man and the ambush took its full effect. As soon as it was done he restealthed immediately. To all others living in the shadows of the alley, it looked like a phantom had killed the bottle thrower in one shot, and then death had leapt across the span of the alley to the bleeding man immediately, though it shouldn't have been possible. They were all rogues, they had been counting the seconds of life left in the bleeding man as well. He'd died a second too early Silently, Alessandre sneaked back and retrieved his throwing knife from the sandy-bearded man's throat.

"To simply let you bleed to death would be far too easy an end for my prey." Alessandre's mind raced as he muttered to himself. He couldn't think for the rushing adrenaline, was blinded by the sight of blood, and his palms throbbed with excitement. The screaming was still in his ears and delighted him in a way that no man should be delighted by death. Like he always did, Alessandre saw Silithus and the shadowpriestess when the screaming subsided. She extended her hand to him, electric with the shadow power. Once again, he made the decision to hold back too late because he loved her. But… if this time he could kill, perhaps it could unhappen, just this once.

Later at the Cathedral of Light in Stormwind…

Opalbane was surprised to hear the deadbolt grate free against her door in the middle of the night, but she was not surprised at who it was.

"Alessandre… it's been three days. I almost thought you weren't coming back." Quietly, she slid what she had been writing under her pillow. It was the list for Willypearl that she could not possibly complete anyway when the man she needed was so elusive.

Alessandre said nothing, but came to the bed and knelt before her.

"Oh, Al." Opalbane wept when she saw him in the moonlight and drew him into her arms. The blood all over his excellent black armor smeared against her virgin white hands, stained her frail nightgown. Alessandre was wooden against her, even though she insisted on hugging him.

"Al, what happened? Are you hurt? If you'll only let me heal you… Where did you go Al, what happened to you? Did you find Benactus' contact? Am I safe?"

Alessandre did not answer her many questions. They were more than fair and she deserved to know the answers to all of them since it was her fate, her life at stake. As he always did, and as most rogues tend to do, Alessandre avoided the tough questions because he was not yet ready for them. Instead he said weakly,

"Priestess… I have a confession to make. You said that confessing would make me feel better, didn't you?"

Opalbane shuddered as she held him. She could feel the weight of his pain, the greatness of his sin, but would he dare to tell her? All she could do was wait, and hope.

"I can't help myself when I… I keep reliving it." Alessandre tried to explain but failed.

"Reliving what, Alessandre? You can trust me. I care about you."

But Alessandre did not answer this question either. Instead he slipped back into his old ways which were comfortable than incriminating himself. Wounded by the daggers of the newly dead and his old guilt, Alessandre climbed into the bed and pressed Opalbane down underneath him. Then, he began to kiss her.

"I'm not so broken. I have nothing to hide, Opalbane, and you are safe." Alessandre lied.

Frightened, Opalbane nodded and let herself be kissed. But when Alessandre wasn't looking, she discreetly put all the tiny manaburn candles out.

Author's note: I know it's been a while, but I should be back on schedule in a week or so.