Hellboy and two unruly children...

The boy

Domitila’s eyes flicked open and she was immediately alert and awake. She expected to hear the call of birds, the rustle of leaves and see dawn but all was dark and silent. Her ears twitched and listened, probing the darkness for sound. She held onto the bar and uncurled her tail, dropping silently to the floor. Domitila stepped out of the cupboard, glancing over at Liz who was still sleeping peacefully. The silence was unnerving, unnaturally quiet. She opened the door and tiptoed into the hallway. Domitila heard a noise, a ray of light in the darkness. She crept towards the noise. It was from the infirmary. The boy!

 Domitila sped up, reaching the door to the silver haired werewolf and opened it, not bothering to close it again. She crept up to his bed. He was sobbing, holding his head in his hands.

 “Ola. Você está bem?” Domitila asked quietly. The boy’s head shot up, eyes red and bloodshot. He growled quietly.

 “Who are you? Where am I?” he looked at her closely, “You can’t be my buyer, you’re too young.” Domitila inched towards him.

 “Meu nome é Domitilla.” she introduced. The boy sniffled and took a shuddering breath.

 “Domitila, that sounds Spanish.” he whispered. Domitila shook her head and lifted her feet to the edge of the bed, settling herself into a crouching position near the boy. It was just natural for her. She used to sit like that in the trees of the Amazon, watching the world below her.

 “É Português.” she told him.

 “Oh, you speak Portuguese. Okay.”

 “Você quer que eu fique?” she asked, pointing to the bed, herself and the door. The boy got the message and nodded. Domitila readjusted herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. She flicked  her tail into his lap by accident and he leaned away from it. She looked at it and just as she was about to grab it away, he picked it up. His touch sent shivers up her spine. He ran his thumb over the brown fur that coated it.

 “Hmm, this is soft.” he mused. His words made the blood rush to Domitila’ cheeks and ears. His stroking made Domitila feel tired. She yawned, lips curling back to reveal centimeter long canines.

 “Estou cansado.” she slurred. The boy patted the empty space next to him, and she laid down. He wriggled next to her and wrapped a pale, scar ridden arm around her. Domitila buried her head into his neck and closed her eyes, breathing in his smell. I like him, she thought giddily before sleep claimed her.