(ACT 01) The consequences

“We are free to choose our paths, but we can’t choose the consequences that come with them.”

—Sean Covey

. . .

Alastor's hand had been wandering to the last unopened button of her coat just as he felt rather than heard her breath hitching against his lips, oblivious to the fact that her eyes were snapping open in steadily growing panic, more so when she felt him actually trying to wrench the coat off of her none too gently.

“NO!” Winters suddenly shoved against his chest.

“Wha–?”

“Stop! Don’t you dare!”

“Winters, what the f–?!”

Caught off guard, Alastor nearly bumped his head directly against her's, a look of shock on his face as he clumsily planted his hands on the ground to keep himself from crushing her with his weight.

But Winters continued squirming violently underneath him like an animal caught in a trap, “Let me go! Let me go right this instant!”

Perplexed, Alastor’s first instinct was to try to calm his mate down, reaching out to touch her face to comfort her but she suddenly recoiled away from his hand, slamming the back of her head against the hard ground with a thunderous thud in the process.

“Oh shit, are you alright?!” Alastor gaped, hands automatically holding the back of her head to cradle it despite her continuous thrashing.

And that was when he noticed the darkening ground for the first time underneath her, “Wait a minute–…what?” his eyes darted around them in disbelief. Most of the soil had already weathered and died, “What the hell is going on? Winters, please calm the fuck down!”

“GET OFF OF ME!”

Bewildered, he shakily obeyed.

He can only watch in stunned silence as Winters quickly scrambled away from him as soon as he did. Her dark eyes were wide and terrified as she backed away from him, her legs visibly trembling like a newborn fawn.

Even her lips were shaking.

“I-I don't... I don't want this... I didn't want it.”

And Alastor swore he had heard nothing but pure static right after that, his ears ringing so badly as soon those horrible words left her lips.

And while there was a huge possibility that she may not be aware of his kind’s customs, she might as well have beheaded him on the spot there and then and it would have been less painful, would have been far more preferable because she just… her words… they may as well have been regarded as a rejection to her mate.

I should have fucking marked her when I still had the chance... but just as those thoughts formed, Alastor shook his head angrily, not wanting to do something so drastic, the ringing fading in and out as he took in a deep calm breath once, twice, thrice, not wanting to snap and scream. He had been at fault too after all; he had all but forced himself to her but–

“If you didn't want me then why the fucking hell did you kissed me back?!” Alastor demanded, hating the way he sounded desperate, even to himself.

Winters immediately flushed a lovely bright red at the reminder but otherwise said nothing, trying to button her coat properly with clumsy fingers, eyes still deliberately not meeting his. Somewhere around her fumbling, her gaze landed on her discarded sword, she quickly opened her hand (it was still shaking, damn just how much did he rattled her?) and hurriedly clenched it into a fist while the sword was slowly submerged into a pool of shadows and too-many ghostly hands that made the tiny hairs on the back of Alastor’s neck stand.

Once she'd collected her weapon, both of their gazes fell on the ribbon he had managed to rip free from her hair during their… tryst.

It remained in the middle, almost mockingly.

Like a fucking gauntlet.

Winters took a step forward, but he roughly snatched it away from her outstretched hand, stuffing it in his pocket, his gaze on her's all the while, challenging her with his eyes alone to actually try to do something about it.

She blinked in confusion at his sudden action, slowly backing away like a cornered animal, the green grass beneath her instantly wilting with every step she took, as though her fear was sucking away all the life out of them… and while Alastor was no plant lover, he did not like what he was seeing, not one bit.

Was his mate not a goddess? She’s a goddess of another realm, the heir to the underworld, for gods’ sakes... so why the hell was she so afraid of me?!

“Don't you dare try to run away from me again, Winters Veil,” he warned her through gritted teeth, voice barely above an animalistic growl, “You seriously think I will not follow?”

“You don't understand!”

Damn it! The fearful, doe-eyed look she had on her face seriously made it kind of hard to stay angry, “Then at least make me understand! Please talk to me… is it... is it because of what I am?” he swallowed the sudden lump forming at his throat, “That I'm a werewolf? Is that what this is?!”

“It's… it’s not that…” Winters muttered, almost to herself, her voice softer and sounding so small and so afraid.

Alastor blinked at the sudden blur around his eyes, “If it's about what happened, then… then I'm sorry okay? Please Winters, I didn't really want to make you uncomfortable, and I seriously didn’t mean to make you upset more than you already are, but the truth is… I…”

“What?”

There it is again.

That horrified stare.

Alastor let out a shaky breath, then another, his heart stuttering madly in his chest. Ready, or not, here it comes– “...Winters, I'm your–”

But she shook her head suddenly, shadows rising and writhing around her calves now in dense waves as though they were water intending to drag her down within their depths, “Enough. It doesn't matter. You already have your fun, so please leave me alone!”

“Not a chance in hell!”

Alastor almost wanted to cry there and then because he... he almost told her the truth and he did not know if he should be disappointed that he hadn't managed to actually to get it out of his chest or be relieved.

Looking over at his mate’s hostile demeanor once more, Alastor thought he should count himself lucky that he hadn't gotten the chance to say the truth in the end.

But excuse him, what the actual fuck is happening?