Dangerous Desires (Book 2)

Alastor

WARNING: This chapter contains a dark past and depicions of violence. The next chapter will have heavy NSFW and will also be another Alastor one because this chapter was getting long.

                         ~~~~~~~

Oh, how I love this man.

Tucked into his two arms, feels like the pinnacle of safety. Safety that hasn't been felt for the longest time. It's my job to protect and make Anthony feel safe. Never did it click in my muddled brain, that the roles could be reversed. That even with his arachnid form gone, my sweet doe can be dangerous. Can be devastatingly beautiful when cornered and deadly beauty shone in those pink irises.

Even in doe form, Angel continues to surprise me with his tender passion and vehement protectiveness of what is his.

And I am. I belong to him. Only him.

Because I see him for who and what he is. Strong. Beautiful. So unbelievably perfect. Unbridled potential to become a God in his own right. Mowing down those in his path without so much as chipping a claw. And I shall be there when he does. Handing him a match and basking in the glorious burning glow of carnage and destruction as my Beau takes what he wants, rising like a beautiful phoenix from the flames, ripping his enemies to wonderous gory ribbons of flesh.

Even now, Angel presses gentle kisses to the top of my head, causing more wretched tears to well.

Blast it!

Since falling into Hell, a single tear has never fallen from these glowing ruby eyes. It, like so much else down here, is a sign, a show of weakness that others will use against you at any given opportunity.

He has made a crier of me!

The thought is unsurprising as it is offensive. In honesty, I find that I don't mind being vulnerable for Angel, and him alone. Satan knows I have in the past. It still feels strange though. To cut one's chest open and reveal every squirming, bloody, organ. Show them what makes you tick - in a manner of speaking - and bare your upmost vulnerabilities and hope to not be taken advantage of. Trust the hands holding your heart, to not stab it repeatedly.

This vulnerability thing is still relatively new. Equal parts thrilling and nauseating.

Yes, crying in private with him is doable. Angel has help me shed some of the insecurities weighing me down. So, perhaps, he may be able to help with this...

At the very least, he deserves to know of the painful origin of said scars marring the skin that stretches over a thin, boney, skeletal frame.

"Be advised, what is uttered in this room, shall never see the light of day." Backing out of his embrace to see him fully, I resist the urge to gnaw at my lip.

"Al, hun. It's me. Since when have I said a thing ta anyone 'bout anythin' that wasn't any of their damn business?" Angel places a hand to his chest in playful defense, tone mocking.

That elicites a chuckle from me.

"It's not a pretty tale, dear."

"I delt with sex, drugs, turf wars, and endured things that I'm sure would make ya wanna puke. I can handle whateva' ya throw at me." Angel scoots closer to me, reaching out to grasp my hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

"It began, I suppose, when I was but a child. A young scrappy boy who did all he could to bring home food. Whether it be fishing whatever I could grab from the Bayou a little ways away from the cabin, or pickpocketing baubles from higher class citizens for Mother to pawn off to purchase much needed sustenance."