* Trigger Warning: this chapter contains sexual content. Please take care when reading. If that's not your thing, feel free to move on to the next chapter.*

"Alastor, what have you done?"

His eyebrows raised in an almost goofy expression of self satisfaction. Was he drunk? Was he still riding a high like the one she had experienced?

"So you heard the broadcast?"

"Everyone heard it."

"I admit, not my best work. Still, nice to get back to old habits." He raised his drink to her in a salute before drinking. She could see red smudged fingerprints on the glass.

"Alastor," she didn't know what she was going to say next, but it didn't matter, he did not give her the opportunity. As he downed the last of the liquor, he threw his arm out letting go of the glass, sending it shattering against the wall.

"I did what I should have done the moment I saw him touching you."

"That wasn't… It didn't," Isobel stuttered as Alastor advanced on her. He moved like a predator. A drooling fox baring down on a rabbit. Instinctively, she backed up only to find a bookcase at her back. Looking for an escape, her eyes darted side to side. To her right a fireplace emitting an ominous green light and two wingback chairs stood between her and the door. On her left a modest desk stood pushed up against the wall under a taxidermied skeleton of a 10 foot alligator, beyond that the eerie swamp. She turned back toward the door, the only way out, but he had already closed the gap. He placed a hand on either side of her head. Leaning heavy on the shelves behind her, his palms left smears of blood.

"Are you scared?" He spoke so low it was almost a whisper.

"A little," she confessed.

"Are you scared of me?" She hesitated, staring intently at his bow tie. He chuckled, nodding and leaning closer. "Or are you scared of how it makes you feel?"

Her eyes shot up, defiantly meeting his.

"There it is," he cooed. "I've seen that look in your eyes before. The same expression you had at the club when you stood covered in blood, surrounded by my carnage. You know, in that moment, I found you quite beautiful. I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or fuck you." He reached out with his long, sharp fingers, gently touching her face. "Let's be honest. You're not angry that I destroyed that feckless wretch. You just wish you could have done it yourself. You didn't come here to scold me," he brushed his thumb across her quivering lips leaving a trail of red. "So let's skip to the real reason you're here."

He opened his deadly maw and his long, prehensile tongue snaked out, slowly licking the blood from her mouth.

With a speed and force he was not expecting, Isobel simultaneously grabbed him by the ears and gnashed down hard on his tongue. He made a surprised groan as, for the first time, Isobel drew blood. As the thick, acidic taste filled her mouth, she sucked, sending a wave of equal parts pleasure and pain rolling down his spine making his tail stand erect.

When she finally let go, Alastor stood back. A trickle of his blood ran down her chin as well as his own. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

"Bad girl."

With a thump Isobel was slammed against the bookcase, her arms tightly circling around Alastor's neck as the force of his body pressed down on her. She kissed him deeply, tasting more of his blood as he deftly ripped the red robe from her body. He licked, bit, and pawed at her, but she somehow wriggled from his grasp and sunk to the floor. Opening his pants she took his penis in a tight fist and thrust it deep until it hit the back of her throat. With hot fervor she pumped in and out, using both tongue and teeth. (Perhaps not as gently as she could have.)

With a sharp hiss, Alastor took a sudden intake of breath through his grinding teeth as both hands grasped fistfuls of long dark hair. Hunching, his muscles seized, fur stood on end, and in his heightened, reckless state, the usually stoic Radio Demon, groaned, "ah, fuck," as he came. Through heavy rasping breaths he looked down at her, annoyed that she made him come first.

This time it was Isobel's turn to wipe her mouth. She sat back on her heels and stared up at Alastor, her green eyes glaring like a challenge, like a threat.

"Again?" she asked with a cocky smile.

Without a word he took her by the arms and lifted her off the ground, turned her around, and bent her over the desk. She braced herself with her hands and arched her back. The straps of her black slip had fallen from her shoulders exposing her back. He could see her muscles ripple under the skin as he leaned over, pressing his weight onto her. She could feel his hot breath and the sharp edges of his teeth along the nape of her neck. One hand cupped a breast while the other ran along her inner thigh. His fingers found the thin fabric of her panties and then, after tearing them asunder, the warm wet crevices that lay underneath.

Isobel gasped and shuttered as he plunged two fingers deep inside her. He moved them in ways that made her pant and tremble. She lowered her chest onto the desk afraid that her trembling legs would soon give out. She felt the sudden rush, and as she climaxed she covered her face with her hand to muffle her cries.

Alastor immediately turned her to face him. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, still recovering from the intense orgasm, as he lifted her fully onto the desk.

"Again," he growled. "Louder."

He hooked one of her legs with an elbow, pulling it up to her chest as he bent over her. She wrapped the other leg around his hips pulling him closer. She moaned and writhed as he pushed into her. His antlers twisted and clawed their way skyward, casting a sinister shadow over her. Isobel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her, shirt buttons flying. She kissed him as her hands ran through his hair and over his ears until her grasping fingers found his antlers and then demanded, "Harder, faster," to which he complied.

She moaned and cursed as she came for the second time. Her back arched and Alastor thrust his arms through the space holding her tight around the waist. Her thighs strained against him as she rode the wave of pleasure. He waited until her muscles relaxed before picking her up from the desk.

Dropping to the ground he laid her down on cool wet grass. His claws dug into the soft dirt as he grunted in her ear, "Again. Louder."

Alastor played the part of a rutting deer, his body hunched over his mate, antlers gouging deep trenches in the ground. Isobel circled her arms around his middle and pressed her forehead to his chest. Her eyes closed as she matched his rhythm. They moved together until they both reached orgasm simultaneously.

She stayed there as long as her strength held out, feeling his ribcage expand and contract with every heavy breath. When she finally released her grasp, she fell back to the dew kissed grass, eyes closed and blood pumping in her ears. And though she felt completely spent and satisfied, she knew if he wanted to, she would let him do all again.

Alastor brushed the hair from Isobel's face and stared into her eyes.

"Give me your soul," he said. She hesitated for a moment. Part of her very much wanted to acquiesce.

"No," she said.

"Why?"

"You already have everything else."

Disappointed, he rolled off of her, and they laid side by side looking up into what seemed to be the night sky. It seemed like they stayed there a long while. Crickets chirped and the lightning bugs danced in and out of vision.

"I have to tell you something," Isobel said at length. He waited silently for her to continue. "I've been making deals. All of my followers have given me their souls."

"I know."

She wasn't really surprised. Nothing went on in the hotel that Alastor didn't know about.

"I think it's changing me."

"Is that how you were able to tear that worthless ram's horn off?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I told you once that you would be a formidable ally, you didn't believe me then, but as usual, I was right."

"You also said I was just like you, a predator."

"If not now, sooner or later."

Isobel sighed, resolved. She stood and looked down at herself. She was covered in smeared blood and could not tell if it was her own, Alastor's, or Vincent's. Her slip was ripped in a few places but mostly still intact. Without another word, she stood, leaving Alastor on the ground.