DESCENT

XVIII-The white wolf

ALISTAIR NYX:

Alistair Nyx had been peacefully puking his guts outside in a secluded spot he managed to stumble upon (fine, maybe he did kind of deserve it, maybe this is the spirit of Nemesis kicking him in the ass right now because getting drunk right off the bat just to delay the inevitable interrogation session from his twin brother was a remarkably bad idea) when he felt rather than heard someone seeming to approach him, their footsteps were near to nonexistent... if it weren't for the hair on the back of his neck seeming to stand up straight to attention at the presence.

And not to mention, this person has a strangely nostalgic scent that would have, should have lowered his guard; it reminded him of a home he could never return to, of a person that he once know of but could never hope to see again.

...but at the same time, the cold waves emitting from this person felt like a bucket of ice-water drenching him in from head to toe, snapping him out of the sleepy daze almost instantly:

A feeling as intense as this was one Alistair can only describe as the haunting presence of death that used to accompany his every step like a shadow, a faithful friend when he was forcefully taken and trapped to a place that can only be described as hell on earth.

In short, it practically kicked his brain back to sobriety.

Alistair wasn't naïve nor was he an optimistic person; he had already been expecting for those bloodsuckers to come for him when he managed to miraculously make a run for it when security became lax enough, but he hadn't thought that it would be this soon... or the fact that they still had the slightest bit of decency to wait until he was alone just for them to ambush him. And while Alistair knows he should be so grateful that nobody would have to be dragged into this awful mess, but he still couldn't help but be suspicious.

He was certain that the vampires would stoop so low, would never hesitate to get civilians involved with the bloodshed about to go down when the inevitable does happen, after all.

But how the hell did they even managed to track him down like this so quickly? Alistair really thought that he had been so careful. He had checked and retraced his steps so many times that he gave up counting and... and shouldn't his scent be at least muddled somewhere along the way, especially with the number of stops he and Harry had done on the way?!

And he chose this place for a reason, damn it!

It feels like they were toying him, a feeling that Alistair had uncomfortably known quite well; like they were letting him lower his guard, pounce at him, crush whatever hopes he has when he least expects it.

And he knows that feeling all too well.

In the first place, Alistair only left the Northern pack, the only home he had ever known, willingly this time around as soon as he was physically able without breathing out a word to anyone (save for Harry because the idiot happened to hear him talking in his sleep and was able to put two and two together) in an attempt to blindside these leeches because there is no way he is going to stay just to endanger his pack—but what if they attacked the North? What if they tried hunting him there? What if he still won't let it go regardless of my silence or not?

However, when Alistair finally looked up with a snarl growing in the back of his throat, instead of finding a group of red-eyed, bloodthirsty demon leering down at him like he was a piece of fresh meat for him to tear apart–

Alistair only found himself blinking in shock, staring face to face with an eerily pale face glaring at him as though he had done something so utterly offensive.