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Deadly Prayer - Nathan's House

People die. Everyone does it, eventually. And, everyone already knows that someday death will come to them, because we're lucky. We were granted the ability the think about the future; what we want from it, what we hope to achieve, and what we hope to avoid. You'd think that given the slightest glimpse of our future, we'd plan for something as big as death. You'd think that we'd inevitably do everything we wanted with our life because we know our time is short.

But, does anyone ever really accept they're going to die? Not really. Some part of our brain forces it to the back, and tells us that it's unimportant. Some part of our soul tells us that it's something we can avoid for our entire waking lives. And even as we die in our dreams, we still have the comfort of waking up, still in our flesh.

What part of our soul is it that does that, and what part of our brain is it that makes us believe that? I, for one, don't really know beyond a shadow of a doubt what allows us to hide away from our inevitable truths, but I can hazard a guess.

I believe it's God, or our faith, that lets us ignore the inevitable and focus on the present. Perhaps our innate ability to forget is a blessing, because what would we do with our gift of life if we were continually reminded of our mortality?

Me? I believe a little differently, I suppose you could say. I like that feeling of death, and I like that constant, ominous cloud hanging over my head, and I like the feel of blood pulsing through my veins as my head reminds that this could very well be my last second on earth. It invigorates you, and it awakens your senses to the littlest things that you never even knew were there. It makes you live like every day is your last. I like that. I thrive in it.

Most people, however, they never face themselves, and they never face their fears of death until their very last breath. So, is it really that wrong for me to show them the quick way to that end? Am I really doing something that God hadn't intended? Am I really all that evil?

It's all about perspective, and the little ways you pick apart the meanings of the words, and the way you break them down to their fundamental truths. You may say that it's not my place to take life, to which I'll only reply that it's not your place to give life. Is that not also playing God? We are of our own freewill, are we not? All of the arguments eventually become meaningless.

You create life, and I take it away. You sow the fields, and care for it, and bring it to life, only to have it snatched away by a sudden storm. Everything is relative, and must always have something taken into account with it. Who is to say that this was not the plan all along? How do you know that you weren't meant to be an example, to remind everyone that death is also lurking for them?

Like I said, people die. All people. I'll die, you'll die, and this man sleeping in front of me will probably also die. So, why worry, right? He's known all along that his countless tomorrows were secretly numbered, and one fateful day was marked invisibly on his calendar, yet he chose to put his life aside. It's not my responsibility to be sure he lived his life to it's fullest before his life inevitably came to a screeching halt, is it?

Because, it's all about freewill, and it's all about fate, and it's all about life. But, it's never about death. In our minds, nothing ever ends, nothing ever ceases, and the wheel of life never stops turning. That is, until it does. Then we suddenly remember just how fragile it all is, and even when that happens, we savor our last breath until everything is no longer.

Truth be told, I'm not really that morbid, and, more often than not, you won't find me in dark corners brooding about death. More often than not, you will find me in dark corners, just thinking about something else entirely. The typical view of an assassin is often overgeneralized, and stereotyped, and made to be a life of intrigue, and carnage, and ghastly horrors. In reality, most of the time, it's just plain _boring. _ Because, most of the time, that's all it really is, sitting around in dark corners; waiting, and watching, and scheming.

And, just sitting. You often find yourself using the endless minutes to toy around with fantasies, or have long philosophical conversations in your head. I have more conversations with myself than I do with the people I pass by in my everyday life. I'd much rather be spending those minutes actually acting on those fantasies, or creeping around in the dark of night, trying to stir up a little fun. The vixens seem to just love a man who can sneak up behind them in the middle of the night, because, every single time, they just scream with delight.

Perhaps it was more of a nervous anticipation that filled their lungs, or maybe even sheer terror, but, regardless, they usually gave in by the end of my sweet talking. Everyone just loves a man with a knife. Perhaps it was the power or the foxiness it entailed, or, perhaps, it was once again fear. It's not like I've ever forced anyone; I've just used some creative coaxing, or certain promises. Or money. Mostly money.

Whatever it had been that caused them to lose their clothing, I wasn't sure it would work this time because the wolf sleeping in front of me had power, and money, and a wife. But, I wasn't about to give up without a fight, because he also had the most beautifully sculpted hind quarters I've ever seen on a man. It was almost like it was crafted by God himself.

His name was Nathan... something or other. I couldn't really remember, nor did I really care to remember. He slept alone in the center of his oversized bed, the sheets pulled down all the way to his feet as he sought some kind of reprieve from the unbearable desert heat. Moonlight from the single open window above his bed rest lightly across his back, making shadows twitch across the bed sheets as his tail moved slowly in the heavy air.

There was a lot to be learned from this, if you really cared to look. He was a simple man, because during the day he wore nothing ostentatious, and he spoke softly. White shirt, blue cravat, tan twill vest with matching slacks; incredibly plain. He preferred to fit into the crowd, rather than stand out in it, despite his wealth and more expensive clothing. He likely had a low profile job, perhaps doing something illegal, or something shameful.

Nathan slept alone, despite the size of his bed. Wife problems, perhaps? Unlikely. His wife was attracted to the wealth, not the man, as evident by the expensive look and feel of the room; the richly colored wallpaper, the hardwood floors and mahogany furniture. He could turn up dead tomorrow, which he likely would, and she would care no more for him then than she did now. Arranged marriage? Impotency? Perhaps he had a general distaste for women all together, meaning I still had a chance...

He wore pants to bed, even though the house had been locked and his bedroom door had been closed. It suggested shame. A shame that made my heart deflate slightly, but I kept my resolve nonetheless, because not all of him had to be perfect. His gray fur was sleek, and his curves flowed between all his muscles. He had a body much like myself, although he seemed unlikely to put up a fight. Probably a coward that had someone fight all his battles for him so he could skittishly skirt around the edges of the law.

This was almost like a game, trying to meet the man without ever speaking to him. All I had to do was find the right puzzle pieces to stick together and I could see just who he was.

I'd left the bedroom door open purposely, and as I hid in the shadows of the corner, beside the sofa, I could feel that excited palpitations begin to take over my heart. Grabbing the faded book that rest open on the arm of the couch, I flipped through the pages; it was just poetry.

Turning to look into the hallway, I saw the lamp placed in the center of the table beside the open door, and I had my plan. Throwing the book through the air, I heard the pages rifle momentarily before it struck the side of the lamp. Tumbling to the floor, it shattered loudly, making the floor shake with the remnants of the blow.

I ducked behind the arm of the couch quickly and pressed my back into the wall, watching silently as the wolf was jerked out of his peaceful sleep. I could hear his legs flailing against the fine sheets as he tried to sit up and look around the room. I held my breath as the pungent smell of the kerosene assaulted my nostrils, and the thin vein of liquid snaked through the open door like an expected guest.

The bed creaked as he pulled himself off of it, and I used the noise to mask the unsheathing of my blade. He didn't pause to look around the room, but, much like I expected, his eyes immediately fell onto the open door. He examined it cautiously, always keeping his back to me as he spotted the shattered lamp. He was sizing it up and weighing his odds, but I could tell by the way his hands shook that he was afraid. He knew someone was in the house, he just didn't have the slightest inkling as to where.

He was just feet from me, his tail hanging limply between his legs, so close I could reach out and touch it. I could feel my own heart beating in my chest, but I knew from experience that even his keen sense of hearing couldn't pick it up. It wasn't fear I felt, but excitement. It was something about his scent, or his air of anxiety, or the strange, subservient intimacy of this frightful dance.

I tossed the blade slightly in the air, being sure not to shatter the unnerving silence. He knelt down in front of the kerosene trail and ran his finger through it, almost as if he expected it to tell him where I was. This was going on much too long; he would turn around any second now and I'd lose the element of surprise.

With my back still pressed against the wall, I slid up it until I was standing, and I looked down at him, watching his slow breathing. He was panicking. He'd stopped examining the kerosene several moments ago, now he was just hoping that if he stayed quiet, the ghosts wouldn't find him and come out to play.

I padded across the floor, closing the gap between us, until I was standing so close I could hear his breath rattling along the ancient floorboards. With my blade held to my side, a little smirk crossed my muzzle as I almost felt him give up on his notion of remaining hidden. He stood and his tail brushed my leg, but before he had the chance to react, I grabbed his muzzle and pulled him closer towards myself, my blade pressed into his throat. His back was pressed against me, and his tail thrashed between my legs.

The back of his head rested on my shoulder and I could feel him cowering, his every muscle shaking as he tried to figure out who I was, or why I was doing this. That was always their first mistake; they always asked the wrong questions. In a matter of life and death, every second counted, and those seconds should be spent planning an escape. But, I wasn't complaining, as it just made my life so much easier.

"You're Nathan, I presume?" I whispered quietly to his ear and he only gulped, "What was it? Nathan Thomas? I can't remember for the life of me."

He nodded, and in response I only sighed. This one wasn't very bright, so perhaps I was doing the world a favor. Whatever reason he was wanted dead, it wasn't smarts. Perhaps it was just the opposite.

"There were two answers to that question, and you just had to chose the wrong one. Had you said no, I might've just let you be on your merry way. I'd tell you to remember that next time, but there probably won't be a next time," I continued, and he closed his eyes. His jaw trembled, but he at least had the dignity to try to hold back his tears.

I let go of his muzzle to reach out and close the door. He tried to look down, but felt the blade still pressed into his throat and all he managed was a defeated whimper. Grabbing his arm, I wrenched it behind his back and led him across the floor, his shuffling steps making the floorboards creak. Passing in front of the vanity mirror, I could see that his free hand was by his side and accounted for; it wasn't reaching for a weapon or anything.

Our fur shined wanly in the light; his gray, mine black. My eyes also shone electric blue with a glint quite unlike his; his were alight with fear, or maybe even understanding, while mine were only content. I had done this a hundred times before, but he had yet to experience what the moments before death felt like. He gulped again as he stood at the foot of the bed and I looked out the second floor window onto a sea of roofs.

Even if anyone heard anything, it's not like they'd bother investigating. To everyone who lived here, this was a one man town. Never did you have to worry about your neighbor, because everyone was out for themselves. Just like me, and just like Nathan.

"Do you know what it is you did?" I asked, relaxing the pressure of the blade a little, allowing his frenetic gaze to search for help outside the windows. I could tell he wanted to scream, but was much too frightened. Too afraid to risk any chance of getting away unharmed.

"N - no," he quavered, his voice just like a scared child's. He acted so innocent, but he clearly had to have angered the wrong person for a price to be on his head. Such a pretty head it was, too.

"Damn," I grumbled, my words punctuated with a soft growl that made him jump. He let out another whimper as I ran the blade along the fur on his neck, "I was hoping you did, because I sure as hell don't."

I swear I'm not a crazy person; I'm just allured by the power, as are most men. Most times, I'm quick, clean, and concise. Most time, I'm in and out. But, I'll admit, sometimes I like to have a little fun. Sometimes I just think they're too good looking to pass up, because it'd be a shame to just lose something so beautiful.

"Listen," he stammered. Here it came, the bargaining, "just let me go and I'll - I'll pay you, or something. Anything. More than whatever they're paying you. I - I have some money, over there, on the dresser, beside my revolver."

"It's making you nervous, feeling that pressing into you, isn't it?" I asked, and he started breathing deeply through his mouth. His heart sped up even more, and I could feel his pulse quicken under my fingers. It seemed likely to burst at any moment, "I'm talking about my blade, that is. Not the other thing. Just ignore the other thing. We'll get to that other thing later, hopefully."

I pulled the blade away from his neck and let his arm free, but he didn't bolt away. He'd probably figured I was too quick for him, and too stealthy for him, seeing as I had sneaked up on him already. He rubbed his neck, to check for blood, but I'd made sure not to cut his flesh. I'd learned a while ago to use the least amount of bodily harm necessary, because it always made the clean up so much easier.

He hovered for a moment, even after I held the blade behind my back, hands clasped softly, still prepared to move at the slightest provocation. As I backed away a foot, he turned around to look at me, his sharp yellow eyes trying to show me his heart.

"What is it you do, Nathan?" I asked, directing him to the edge of the bed, motioning for him to sit. He did so attentively, not once showing me his back, seemingly intent to not present me the same opportunity as before. His fingers fidgeted in his lap as he stared at my waist, as if trying to see the blade behind my back.

"I'm a merchant," he said weakly and I raised an eyebrow, stopping my pacing to look at him curiously.

We both knew he wasn't telling the entire truth by the way his eyes flicked up to mine, to see if I'd fallen for it. It always interested me how they lied, only to see if they could get away with it, then they would instantly switched to telling the truth, hoping that their openness would change my mind.

"A merchant?" I asked, once again turning to face him, studying the way the light from the rising moon fell across the bed, surrounding him in the faintest blue. He had yet to move, or flinch, or even try to attack me yet, which meant one of two things; he thought he deserved the fate that had fallen on him, or he was trying to lull me into submission, "For as much money as I'm getting for you, you must have really skimped on someone's flour."

He must have felt the tension easing in the air, because the faintest smirk traced the corner of his long lips. As I sat on the bed beside him, the awkwardness returned as his eyes fell onto the blade I held against the sheets between us. I put it away slowly, and as I prolonged the metal's grating contact with the sheath, he looked away; I'll admit, I liked watching his nervous squirming.

It was mostly the power that aroused me, but it was also the uncertainty. Knowing that at any moment I could be misjudging, or I could be making a stupid little mistake. There was something I enjoyed about the way they had a million little things scrambling around their brain, but were afraid to say any of them.

They suddenly forget everything they knew about themselves, and begin to think solely about survival. They reverted back to their primal nature, and tried to do whatever was in their power to keep themselves alive. It was always entertaining to watch, because once outside their comfort zone, they'd do just about anything you told them to.

I dropped the conversation about his job, and sins, and misdeeds, because I really didn't care. I leaned back on the bed, and he looked at me curiously, obviously confused about how this night was going. That was my intention, to calm his nerves and loosen him up, maybe even make him believe he still had a chance.

Lying back on the bed with my hands folded across my stomach, I turned my head and only saw his tail lying dead behind him. I was overcome by the urge to reach out and touch it; it was odd, perhaps, but we all do some strange things in our lives. For instance, having the overwhelming desire to sleep with someone you know you're going to kill in due time.

It was sick, and perverse, but I've always known I was a little twisted. Just like Nathan here, who probably sold people's bodies like they were only grain or sugar. It all fit; he had the shame, the cowardice, and the need to be isolated. He was afraid of his own desires, yet he submitted to them, because what else was there to do?

I gave into the voice in my head and shifted one hand off my stomach, making Nathan flinch. I could feel him trying to pull away, so my other hand moved slowly, until it rest on the handle of my blade and he stopped at once. The hairs at the end of his tail twirled around the claw of my pointer finger and a shiver ran down his spine, but I couldn't tell if it was from fear or excitement.

"So, tell me, do you often have men in your bed?" I asked, even though I was already sure I knew the answer; I was only looking to judge his reaction.

"I - What?" he stammered, more icy fingers tracing his spine as my fingers walked up his tail. He had yet to pull away, even with the questions asked, so this was more than fear.

"Nothing," I asked, moving my hand away from my blade once again, being sure he saw me. My fingers reached the base of his spine and I paused to continue, "I was just curious, really."

"I'm not -" he started, but I stopped him, patting him on the lower back softly, running my fingers through his fur with a smirk.

"I'm sure," I said, genuinely surprised that he didn't even try to pull away to strengthen his claims. Perhaps he was too actively looking for a way to escape, "I was merely commenting on the fact that you sleep alone. Why not share a bed with your wife?"

"She's out of town," he mumbled as I sat up and looked at him, searching his eyes with a smirk as his eyes darted around, only to find my hands were nowhere near my blade.

"I can see that," I clarified, resting my hand on his thigh, and he flinched, wanting to stop me, but he didn't. We both looked at my fingers curiously as I slid them up further, watching his confusion form slowly, "but she left her bed here, and it's on the other side of the house."

In response to his silence, I pushed him backwards onto the bed and straddled him, pressing my hands into his chest. He pulled his legs onto the bed and tried to buck me off, but I didn't move. As he grasped at my arms, trying push me off, I just smirked deviously and he was probably asking himself just how far I was from a psychotic break.

"Frisky, are we?" I chuckled, grunting as he kept trying in vain to get me off of him. After a short, half-hearted struggle, I pressed his hands into the sheets on either side of his head. Studying his eyes, I saw that fearful yellow glow that the moonlight only accentuated.

"Why are you toying with me?" he growled, his fear shifting into anger as he finally accepted that he was no longer in control. He stopped fighting me and instead sneered as I just continued to smile. I rest my weight on his stomach and he fidgeted once more, but quickly stopped, trying to hide just how much it was bothering him.

"I'm not, to be completely honest," I said with a small shrug, "my mother always told me it was rude to play with my food, so quite clearly I did not learn that lesson."

"What?" he snapped, no longer finding my joking as funny or quirky. I had to agree with him, this was taking much too long; perhaps I had misjudged and he was just unhappily married after all.

"Come on, lighten up. It's not like anyone is holding a knife to your throat."

"If you're going to kill me, just do it already," he snarled, his lip quivering as he spat the words. I chuckled, feeling a sharp intake of breath as I shifted myself, pressing my knee into his chest.

"If you insist," I mumbled, watching him struggle to keep his breath. I quickly moved my hands to his throat and pressed my entire weight on him, watching him clutch at my arms, "but this isn't usually the context I have when people are begging me to go faster."

Perhaps I'm not twisted enough to sleep with someone I'm about to kill, but I have no problems going after widows or widowers. Something about flirting and joking seemed to calm them, despite the gloomy clouds that hung over the situation.

It wasn't really the act of killing that entertained me, it was how everyone was so predictable. The way they lived their lives like they were unique, but when it came down to it, every single one of them had the same needs. When their time came to die, every single one of them was the same.

They're always afraid, because I have the upper hand. I have the element of surprise. No matter how hard they try to mask that fear with words, their actions always told me one thing, and it was always that no one wants to die.

As Nathan fought against me, and I looked into his eyes, and felt his hands clutching into my arms, and felt his entire body seize up, I knew that he felt he deserved what was happening. And, even though he knew this, he still didn't want to die.

He was afraid of the unknown, and he was afraid of the afterlife, and he was afraid he'd be judged. He was afraid of those bible stories of fire, and damnation, and torment. He wondered what it'd be like to lose the power he'd grown so accustomed to.

Evil men never believe in God, and evil men don't believe in judgment. That is until they're faced with their mortality, and only then will they reflect on their misguided lives, and see who they were, and who they'd become. They see the pearly gates ensconced with fire and they finally realize they're afraid, just like all of us. They finally realize that even if they were a powerful mortal, they were still just a mortal.

He had stopped struggling minutes ago and lost consciousness, but still I held my hands to his throat. Leaning back, I reached for his hand, holding it up as I checked for a pulse, finding none. Moving away from him and pulling myself from the bed, I looked at him silently, his tousled fur losing that lively glow.

Nothing had changed, but the room seemed to become closed and overbearing, like his soul lingered. It felt like his eyes were staring at the back of my neck, but I knew better as he lay motionless, almost like he was sleeping. I'd never quite gotten used to the way they seem to linger, or they way they seem to still resent you, even if they're gone.

Padding over to the vanity, I squinted as I looked for his revolver. The light seemed to recede from the room, leaving me in complete darkness. Finding his gun, I tucked it into my belt opposite my blade, it's walnut grip smooth on my fingers. It was a quality build gun, something that would probably get me a pretty penny.

Tucking his wallet into the chest pocket of my frock coat, I ran my hands down the rough wool front, straightening it as I walked out the bedroom door. Sidestepping the shattered glass and leaking kerosene, I went towards the front door like an old friend, no longer feeling unwelcome. The light from the window rest at my back, plastered along the wall of the narrow staircase.

With my back against the front door, I looked through the side windows and listened to the silence, searching for anything that would mean I wasn't alone. A minute passed and I heard nothing, so I opened the door as quietly as possible, doing everything I could to repress the noise of the hinge.

Locking the door behind me, I wished Nathan the best of luck in the afterlife, and hoped he was judged fairly. Disappearing along the moonlit road, I skirted the shadows in the night time heat that always seemed to plaque us in this desert.

I passed by more brick houses than I cared to count as I crept around the backstreets. I didn't quite know this city as well as my own home town, but I could tell as I looked through the low windows, that I was distancing myself from the ritzier parts of town.

The houses began to fall more into disrepair as I reached the town's center. I knew this place well enough to know the important attractions; the saloons and the hotels. My business in one typically ended in the other. To me, the people here were just like the town; they meant nothing, and I could never remember the names of where I was, or who I was with.

I'd learned a while ago, that closeness, or friendship, or anything other than business complicated things. Nathan knew that, and that was probably why he never saw his wife, or never looked at his wife, and why no one would have come to his aid even if he'd screamed.

When you loved no one, you couldn't lose anyone. It was a side effect of my job, my inability to hold people close, to look at them in a way that sparked a meaningful passion. The flame in my eye had died out a long time ago, and many a time, when people looked in them, trying to find my soul, they often mistook my desires for my life's meaning.

I often longed for companionship, and, dare I say, love, but it's impossible with the life I lead. Every connection I have, every life I effect by my existence, is just another bullet in my enemy's gun. Killing, and sneaking, and stealing are all I know, just like lust is all I've come to feel.

I know myself well enough, and though I know my flaws more intimately then anyone else on this earth, I only find myself wondering, what is the point of change? A man stuck between his beliefs and his desires is a man without a self, and that man is me. Does my dark past cement my loneliness? Not entirely, because pointless, frivolous sex often makes up for it. And, when you can get anyone you want, what's there to gain from worrying?

The town's streets had turned to sand under my feet and the immaculate houses had fallen to tattered remnants of some long forgotten dream. The wooden porches that were covered with the desert, were also completely desolate and abandoned, aside from the candles flickering in front of the curtained windows.

Ascending onto the long steps of one building, I studied the fading letters on the glass. Painted in gold were the words 'Longhorn Saloon' and I found myself glued to the spot, staring at myself in the reflection. It'd been days since I'd truly looked at myself, and years since I'd truly felt like myself.

My luxurious black fur had been replaced with a coarse and brittle matte. The only thing that reminded me of who I used to be was my eyes, but even they were jaded. Lost, and bored, and missing the occasional feeling of genuine contentment. Sometimes, when I looked hard enough, I swore I could almost find the last remnant of my soul; the last thing of mine that the fast life hadn't taken away from me.

I missed it, and I longed for it again, but I knew my past was never coming back, no matter how much I told myself I was still the same. Closing my jacket to hide my weapons, I glided along the walk, refusing to look at myself again.

The ruckus of the bar crept underneath the saloon style doors, and the walk was illuminated by the little light that clung to the floorboards. The night was still young, not that the night really ever ended for me, since the night time was were I lived most of my life.

Inside, the walls were a deep red, perhaps to mask any potential messes, and the floor looked pretty recently sanded which gave weight to my theory. The atmosphere was jovial, if not a little heavy with the smell of alcohol, but why else would you go to a place that served liquor? If you just wanted to hang around, taking up space, there was the general store for that. And, even doing that required that you first had friends.

I wasn't in this town all too often, about once a year at most, but I knew the story behind it pretty well. This town held some of the richest folk in the west, and some of the poorest. The only days I was in this town were the times that I had just come into a huge payday because, while it was often easy to kill one of these men, it didn't come cheap.

From my traveling, I learned many things, and one of those things was that, although these people seemed happy, and friendly, none of them really knew each other. This was a saloon; booze, gambling and women. Three things that made a man not want to be himself. Three things that made a man try to look like he was the biggest thing in this town.

Everyone here was friends by drunken association, so as soon as you remove the booze and these men get on their way, no one would even recognize each other on the town. The closest thing these people had to true camaraderie was the graciousness not to punch each other out when they met on the streets, but even that was because the liquor had eaten away most of their brain.

A bear, a coyote and a raccoon sat around a table in the far corner, under the flickering light of candles in sconces along the wall. They weren't doing anything aside from drinking and talking. If I were sitting with them, I'd at least be playing poker. Card games were a mixture of luck and skill, which were two of my favorite things. I walked towards the bar, where a vixen with fur as black as midnight was folding a cloth, her back to everyone, probably growing tired of her long shift and little money.

There was another wolf at the counter, his head resting on the polished wood as he sat slouched over on one of the few remaining stools. He was either sleeping, or so drunk he'd passed out. Resting my arm on the counter, I reclined with my back to him and instead looked to the lithe form of the fox, her hips swinging as she wiped the counter down with her back still to me.

"Can I help you?" she asked, still without looking at me. She was either a shy woman, or a strong woman, either of which I was perfectly fine with. Watching her tail flick quickly as she turned around, I smirked to myself and she seemed to become a little distraught, but she contained it well. Someone as fine as her must how have to turn away men left and right.

Her eyes were a deep orange, much more fiery and lively than the wisps of orange around her nose. Flecks of white were strewn around her face, drawing you into her trapping eyes. She had a face you couldn't quite forget, even if for some reason you found yourself wanting to.

"I'd like a bottle of whiskey, if you please," I said, placing both my elbows on the counter so I could look at her more raptly. It didn't seem to be making her anymore disturbed than she had been when I first laid eyes on her.

She reached under the counter and retrieved a brown bottle, a new and pristine label on it. Straightening herself out, she looked at me and drew even closer, resting the full bottle on the counter between us. The wolf to my side stirred, but didn't move as she pushed the bottle closer to me.

Even over the powerful smell of stale alcohol and the stench of dirty men, I could smell her perfume; it was light and sweet. It was obvious that she didn't belong here in this town.

"I'm sorry if this is too forward of me, but you look awfully familiar," I said as she looked away again, once again folding her cloth so she could pretend to clean the counter.

"I see too many faces in a day to remember many of them," she said, her voice just as soft as her smell. She looked at my face, studying every little part of it, trying to remember me. I stood at my full height and looked down at her with a wide grin.

"Do you happen to remember someone named Scarlett?" I asked and she cracked a smile back, remembering who I was instantly. I got that reaction a lot, and I'm sure she did, too.

"You can't just forget Scarlett," she said, dropping her cloth on the counter and leaning over it to look at my eyes again. She saw that glimmer that I sometimes swore I saw.

"What happened to your singing in Copperbend?" I asked, ignoring everyone else in the bar as I looked at Scarlett with devious grin, thinking back to the memories of our old times in her husband's bed.

"Bill died and someone didn't take too kindly to a women ownin', operatin' and workin' in a saloon, so next thing I know, it's being burnt to the ground," she said, her smile fading quickly as she coughed away the sadness, "Few months back I moved here, managed to get myself a job, and here I am, in the flesh."

"I'm sorry, Scarlett, that's horrible," I said, trying to remember if it was me who had killed her husband, but I was almost positive it wasn't. I've never burned down any buildings, because that would get far too much attention, "I was wondering why you look so small."

"Serving drinks doesn't get you nearly as much money as owning the place that sells them. I've had to do some unsavory things to get myself into the place I am now."

"Well, we could have some fun, like the old times," I said quietly, leaning closer to her so our faces were less than a foot apart, "I could even pay you, if you'd like."

Her lips fell and she glared at me, pulling herself away to grab a shot glass from under the counter. She slammed it between my hands and we both looked at it for a long second, but I just tried to look shocked. The wolf beside us awoke with a start and she retreated from the counter, picking up an empty box. She walked around the counter and passed by me, about to pick up the dirty glasses from the empty tables.

"Don't you want me to pay for the whiskey?" I asked her from across the room, but she didn't even turn to me as she stacked the glasses in the box.

"You can have it, as long as that means I don't have to talk to you for the rest of the night," she said, and I grinned victoriously as my attention was drawn to the wolf that sat beside me.

He was already looking at me with his head cocked to the side, his eyes deep in thought as he studied mine. I perked my ears and my eyebrows curiously as he looked me up and down slowly, sizing me up in a way that no smart man would do.

"Is that you, Blue?" he asked, and I was now the one to cock my head in confusion. My name wasn't Blue, but he was probably only commenting on my eyes. I only ever told people I trusted with my life what my true name was. It was actually Regan Black, but this man was talking to me like he knew me, so I had to listen.

"Err, you!" I replied, trying to seem surprised but he didn't buy it. Balancing my elbow on the side of the counter, I rest my head in my hand, looking him up and down. I was doing the same thing I'd just judged him for; trying to figure out what he would look like without clothes on. Had I slept with him before? The odds were pretty good. He didn't look like someone to hold a grudge so long he wanted someone dead so he likely wasn't a business prospect.

"I have a name, you know," he said, wobbling as he pushed himself from the stool. His breath reeked of something, but I couldn't exactly tell what, possibly because there were so many things mixed on his tongue.

"And, it's possible that I'd call you by it if I could remember it," I replied and he scoffed, grabbing my bottle of whiskey, along with my shot glass and the one that had caused him to passed out. I watched him ponderously as he walked away towards a table in the dimly lit corner, far away from the only other men in the bar.

He didn't quite have Nathan's backside, but it was close enough. Instead, he had something else I liked, which was love handles and a belly. Not only did I find it attractive, but it also meant I'd find his wallet full. Since he seemed much less skilled at drinking than I was, perhaps I'd have a chance to get him alone and borrow some of that money.

Sitting down in the darkest part of the corner, I watched him sit right beside me and slam the bottle on the table as he practically collapsed into the chair. He placed the two small glasses on the table in front of him, using his teeth to pull out the stopper.

I watched his glossy eyes shine childishly in the quiet light as he sopped my free whiskey all over the table. I'm sure Scarlett would be none too happy, but I was also more sure she didn't want to ever look at me again; at least I now had an alibi. He pushed one to me and took one for himself as he sat up with a dramatic intake of breath. From where I sat, right now, I'd be willing to wager that he didn't even have the slightest clue where he was.

"You never did tell me your name, Blue," he said after downing the whiskey with a satisfied grunt. I really didn't even care that he was being so pretentious, because there was no way I could really go wrong from doing this.

Looking at him deeply, I picked up the glass and drank it, feeling it bite back. At least Scarlett hadn't skimped and given me a cheap bottle. Sitting back and looking at him again, I had hoped he would have forgotten what he'd asked, but he still stared at me with determination.

"I don't intend to tell you it, either," I answered simply, expecting him to frown, but instead he smiled and leaned closer to me. I fought the urge to pull away, reminding myself of the possible money and whatever else may happen.

"Oh, a man of mystery, I remember now," he said with a hazy smile as his eyes had a hard time focusing on me. All I could do was smile back vacuously, but he didn't seem to mind as his lips cracked open even more.

"How do I know you again?" I asked, placing my side on the table's edge as I looked into his eyes, trying to gauge how much he'd drank. Judging by the scents coming from his mouth, he'd probably spent the entire night drinking, but it looked like he was beginning to come down.

"Few months ago, you were here, and, uh - " he mumbled, making his voice so quiet even I had a hard time hearing him. I perked up my ears, even though it was frivolous, because I already knew what he was going to say. My eyes traveled down his chest to his stomach, studying the way it pressed out the gray vest, "you came to my room."

I nodded blankly as my eyes were drawn to the way his nose twitched. His shyness was rather cute and flattering, meaning I wouldn't have had to be drunk to sleep with him, but it was likely that I had been, seeing as I didn't remember him at all. He looked at me with a coy and interested smirk.

Now, what I did, and what he was doing, was all taboo. A man sleeping with a man was horribly wrong and offensive to God, but I was one of those few who had never really believed in one mighty power. Sure, I talked the big talk about fire and damnation, but it was all just a charade. What we have here is free reign, and our free will allowed us to do whatever we wanted as long as we were willing to risk the consequences. If there was someone bigger out there, he would've stopped me long ago, but he hadn't, so the only thing I had to worry about was the other people who walked this earth.

But, only the really brave men admitted to themselves that they liked to look at other men, and only the really stupid men told it to other people. I blurred those lines, because I didn't care what anybody thought, because I could likely kill them in a fight, fair or not. They had something to say, I really didn't care because the next thing they'd feel was a blade lodged between their ribs. There have been a few times where I've proved that claim, and several of those times included a little fun on the side.

This guy, however, was stupid. He didn't know for a fact that I even remembered what I did, yet he brought it up. I've gotten guys to do some things I'm sure they'd never do while sober; hell, they've done things even I wouldn't do while sober. I could have very well killed him just for bringing it up, because how did he knew I was fine talking about it? Most of the guys I've dealt with denied that they liked it, even as they were in the middle of doing it.

I bet you my knife that by the next time I come around here, this man will be rotting in a ditch somewhere because he said the wrong thing around the wrong person. I could tell by looking at him that he wasn't one to be able to defend himself. It was harsh, but it was true.

"Few months ago?" I asked, returning to the conversation after staring at his chest for a few long moments, which seemed to excite him because his tail was twitching spastically. Thankfully no one was looking over in our direction, "I must've just been passing through. Likely I was too drunk to even remember."

"You fell asleep in my bed," he continued, sitting up straighter and puffing out his chest. He was trying to impress me inconspicuously, but I noticed. I was concerned by the fact that I'd slept in someone else's bed, and it showed as I rubbed the side of my muzzle, "I woke up in the morning and you were gone."

"Oh," I mumbled quietly, resting my muzzle on my palm as I looked away and studied the dark grain of the table. It was stained, and pitted, and gouged, and the only thing that I had to look at beside the man sitting next to me, "I even stayed the night? I must've been a lot more drunk than usual. Listen... err, you... I just want to make this clear, anything that did happen, which, knowing me, was probably anything, was likely just an accident. Only thing it was about was lust."

"But, it doesn't have to be," he said innocently and I chuckled, brushing my tail against his thigh.

He was so naive and stupid. It was actually rather cute and refreshing after dealing with murderous and ravenous goons all day. He didn't seem that much younger than myself, but not many people have done the things I've done. Everything he had, he likely got from his parents, and everything I own, I got from fighting for it.

"Okay, whatever your name is, it seems you're missing a big point here. We're men. Men don't love. Women love. I just sleep with people and move on. I don't go looking for relationships, especially with men, because, how the hell would that work? If you were in a relationship with a man, you'd have people trying to kill you left and right."

"I like women, too," he replied quietly, his ears folding back against his skull. Was he really so sheltered that he didn't know that relationships were meant to be between a man and a woman? How he even came to be drinking in this bar was a mystery to me.

"I'm sure you do. If you want someone to swoon over you, go try talking to the barmaid or something, and at least look at her like you're interested this time," I said, frowning dramatically as I shook my head, "your eyes never went lower than her face."

He looked away, slightly abashed, but I just chuckled. I've had to turn people down before, but it was usually women since they looked to me so they could hopefully gain some riches. Men never went after me for money, because they knew they'd never be able to romance me enough to get anywhere near it.

As such, it was always more flattering when men were attracted to me, because I felt that they genuinely liked me for some part of my personality. Which part, however, I'm not really sure, since I was generally rude, crude, and emotionless when I dealt with them. Although I'd never admit it aloud, it bothers me that I can't find a legitimate relationship.

Love is something I've struggled with my entire life, and while the thoughts of companionship and meaningful happiness intrigue me, they frighten me more than anything. More than death. Perhaps it's because I've never been sure I've truly felt it, or perhaps it was because I knew I had, and I'd lost it.

Regardless, who would accept me for who I am? I kill people for a living. I have a conscience and, for a while, what I did bothered me, but after I learned that no one could love me, I stop loving myself. And, inevitably, I stopped caring.

Sex was nice; it allowed me intimacy without the required connection. Drinking was even nicer; it made me feel warm on the inside and made my decisions easier while neutralizing any kind of regret. Love, though, it was worry, and compassion, and lust, and a barrage of other emotions that I didn't want to commit myself to.

What I had now was all I needed. The only thing required of me was my job, and that meant I'd never have to stay still; I'd never have to get close to anyone. I'd never be able to love. It was probably better off this way, because anyone I ever did end up with would have some excellent blackmail.

"What if - " I heard him start, but stop abruptly, almost like he forgot how to speak. I looked up and saw him drinking right from the bottle in the awkward silence I'd left. The scent was incredibly strong, and I felt my stomach lurch uncomfortably as his warm breath made it harder to deny the loneliness I'd been fighting. "What if I said I didn't want someone to swoon over me?"

He smiled at me, a lot more strongly than I'd seen him do before. He was relying on the alcohol to build his confidence in himself; little did he know, I'd take anything right about now. It'd been a few weeks since I'd been in a city with people who were smart enough to hold the proper end of a knife.

"Now that might be something I'm interested it," I said, glancing around to room to make sure no one was watching before running my claw down his thigh softly. His muscles twitched beneath my touch and his heavy eyelids perked up a little, "do you have a room?"

He pulled away from me with amazing reflexes and pushed himself out of the chair, leaving me momentarily stunned. By the time I realized what was happening he was already going up the stairs. I grabbed the almost empty bottle of whiskey and walked towards the stairs slowly, drinking as I went.

I didn't even care if anyone questioned why I was following someone upstairs. It was dark, and secluded, and the stairs were noisy, so I had the advantage of knowing someone was coming. Dropping the empty bottle on the top step, I rubbed my head exhaustedly. I'd done this so many times before that it didn't even excite me like it probably should have.

All the candles in the hall were still lit, and they led me down the dirty wooden floor towards the one open door where I could see a shadow moving along the back wall frantically. It was silent up here, but it smelled more of shame and regret than the bar below. I couldn't quite describe the smell, but it was something that I could always tell was there. As much as the scent made my stomach churn, I'd somehow acquired a desire for it.

Just inside the door, I glanced at whatever his name was and saw he'd already pulled off his shirt and vest. He had tossed them carelessly around the room, leaving one strewn out across the table and the other under my foot. Kicking it aside, it got lost under the couch, and with one more glance at the jiggling belly several feet behind me, I turned to face the door.

With one hand on the doorknob, I pushed it shut as it moaned like everything else in this establishment. My eyes lingered on the distressed copper beneath my hand and I knew that this was probably the most expensive room here. Like I thought, he hadn't been after me for my money.

Something I'd done last time, while drunk and naked, must have made him see something in me that I didn't even see in myself. Alcohol made you do some embarrassing things, so I wouldn't be surprised if I'd played into some odd fantasy or fetish of his.

Hands grasped my sides as I locked the door and my hand fell. He pressed against my back and my eyes closed as I felt him kissing my neck. Letting out a deep exhale, his warm breath caressed my back, making my spine tingle. Fingers dug into my coat as his voracity increased, the liquid confidence obviously picking up full wind.

I fought a shudder as he pushed me forward into the wall, pressing the side of my face into the gray damask wallpaper. Reaching behind me, I came to rest my hand on his side and found his fur soft as I ran my fingers through it.

Right as my hand was about to slip into the tight waistband of his pants, he stopped, breathing heavily down my shirt. I opened my eyes when his grip relaxed and I turned around to look at his face. He smirked and let out an excited groan as I pulled him back and kissed his lips.

I scratched lightly at his love handles, smiling to myself before sliding my fingers down and into his waistband at last. He began to unfasten my vest under my coat and I massaged his rump, urging him to keep going. I was beginning to get curious as to how he was so good at this, despite him acting so shy about it before.

He may have been playing me, but I didn't even care because it felt so good the way he was pressing himself against me and pressing me back into the wall. It felt oddly comforting that he was bigger than me, even if I knew that, between the two of us, I was the most skilled. Some part of me wanted to have the power stripped away and the certainty removed because I missed the comfort of innocence or the truth that came with weakness.

The gun left my waistband, but I didn't stop him as tossed it onto the bed behind us. The same thing happened to my knife, leaving me feeling a lot more vulnerable and naked than I would have felt without clothing.

As he was halfway through unbuttoning my shirt, I rolled us along the wall so that he had his back to it. The candle lit sconce inches above our head illuminated him in an amazing glow that made every gray hair shine lustrously. I held both sides of his neck as I pressed lips even more roughly into his, tasting his tongue and tasting the whiskey on both our breaths.

I moaned as he reached under my open shirt and held the bottom of backside firmly, pulling my pelvis into his. I could feel myself rubbing against the inside of my trousers, poking out of the top of my waistband, which was resting on the fur of his round stomach.

"What're you waiting for?" he whispered, pulling himself away slightly, "aren't you going to take your clothes off?"

"A gentleman always lets the lady go first," I breathed into his ear with a smirk before kissing at his neck, grasping at his chest hungrily.

"Oh," he said, trying his hardest to sound hurt, but he just groaned into my ear instead, "so I'm the woman?"

"Weren't you last time?" I asked, putting a foot of distance between us, sliding my hands down his stomach, waiting just inches from his canvas trousers.

Although I could feel myself fighting to get out of my own pants, I controlled myself. Several times in the past I'd found knives hidden in pants pockets, or strapped to thighs, just waiting to be used on me once I was completely naked. I'd learned from those days, so now I keep a folding knife in my jacket pocket and waited for them to get naked first.

"You first," he said, but I just ran my hands across his stomach as I dropped down to my knees.

I didn't typically do this, but if it got him to shut up and get out of his clothes so I could get out of mine, it'd be worth it. Besides, it was fun to do from time to time.

Undoing the buttons one by one, I could feel his pants being pressed out excitedly. He had yet to protest as his trouser fell to the floor and I began to pull them out from underneath him. They slid across the floor silently and joined his shirt at the bottom of the couch.

He remained completely silent and held a bated breath as I took him into my mouth slowly. I heard the back of his head thud against the wall and all I could picture was him closing his eyes, so he didn't even have to look at me.

His knees buckled slightly making the thin walls bear his entire weight, and I grasped at his thighs, trying to support myself as he clutched at my skull, forcing my mouth down further. My gag reflex had long since vanished, but my eyes still watered as his guiding hands directed my head with almost no work required on my part. He began to buck his hips slowly, and I knew what would happen if I let him keep going, so I forced myself away.

Once upon a time, I would've tried to reach out and hold his hand, or softly run my hand through the fur on his belly, or something to make this feel less dirty. But, now, I knew better. Now, I knew that's all this was. Dirty, and wrong, and carnal.

It was all I really wanted now, because, somewhere inside me, I knew it was probably all I really deserved. All it was about, and all it would ever be about, was lust and keeping that hole in my chest from being completely empty. So, in the end, I made it clear that it was never about love, so, they never tried to make it about that.

Still holding onto his thighs, I looked up his stomach at him, trying to find his eyes as he stood panting. The slightest frown flicked across my muzzle as I knelt in this position, not used to the feelings of subordinance. He looked down on me with a satisfied grin, fighting against his panting breaths. It seemed that no matter what position I was in, they were looking down at me.

I stood up slowly, and he grabbed me by my pants, pulling me in closer as I stripped off my shirt, vest and jacket at once. Lowering them to the ground slowly so my knife wouldn't make a noise, I pushed them aside with my foot. I shuddered into his mouth as I felt his claw brush against the tip while he was on his way to finally getting me completely naked.

He broke the kiss and looked down at the buttons on my pants coyly. I just braced myself against the wall with my hands on either side of his neck, and used it to try to hold myself up as the first button came undone in a sickeningly slow motion. Closing my eyes, I let my heavy breath assault his ears, hoping he'd get my not-so-subtle hint to go faster.

My pants fell to the floor with a quiet ruffle and I let out a relieved chuckle as I opened my eyes. His nose was less than an inch from mine as kissed me forebodingly, his hands running down my sides and my bare backside. He pulled me closer, grinding our pelvis' together and I could feel both of our excitement. It felt slick and I let out an muffled, but excited groan as he pushed me backwards towards the bed.

Reaching the edge of it, I fell backwards and landed on the soft mattress with him on top of me. He straddled me across the waist and took both of our lengths into one hand, stroking slowly. The way his fingers moved and weaved showed a lot more experience than I can honestly say I expected from him.

My eyes caught his and I saw someone that I hadn't seen before, or at least someone I don't remember ever seeing before. Perhaps it was just the alcohol talking to both of us, but he was much more sure of himself, and I was more likely to follow than lead, which was unlike me.

I was panting loudly and he seemed to be enjoying it as he sped up, watching my reaction to every small touch. Every time his finger touched me, I closed my eyes tighter and pressed my head backwards into the mattress even harder. I could feel my stomach getting moist, but I wasn't sure if it was from me, or him, or the both of us, but I didn't care enough to fight the feelings that were pushing me into the bed.

He stopped abruptly, and I tried to open my eyes, trying to look at him through the dizzying haze and the flood of pleasure. By the time I finally managed to pry my heavy eyelids apart, I closed them again, feeling a warm and inviting pressure.

Moaning a lot louder than I probably should have, I pulled my feet onto the edge of the bed, using it for leverage as I pushed myself in further. I vaguely heard him grunting, be it from pleasure or pain I didn't know, but it passed after several long moments of his tail tracing my thighs.

I closed my eyes because I didn't want to look at him, because this wasn't about him. It wasn't even about me. It was about these few minutes where I was so overcome by ecstasy and the perfect feeling of nothingness that I didn't have to worry about my soul, or my damnation, or my path. These were the only few moments in life where silence was a perfectly acceptable answer and one that I wouldn't argue with.

The harder his hands pressed into my chest, the more pronounced the pressure in the pit of my stomach became. I was getting close to the edge, and I could tell he was, too, by the way his loud breathing mixed with my low moaning.

Looking down over the white tuft of hair on my chest, I saw his head lolling backwards and I grabbed his member in my hand roughly, trying to get him to climax. After a minute of a determined resilience, he let out a final grunt and his muscles clenched in a way that sent me over the edge. I buried myself as deeply as I could just as he shivered under the first touch of afterglow.

After my back eased, I felt myself sinking into the bed and I was lost in the intense feeling of calm. My serenity was only broken when I felt him pull off of me and collapse on the bed to my left. I laid there, completely still with my arms behind my head as the blood rushed through my body, making my stomach pulse exhaustedly. The summer's night was starting to close in around me as I began to realize just how hot it was in here, and just how much I wanted to slip out of my fur to cool off.

With a tired groan, my head fell to the side and I closed my eyes, still feeling him pressed into me. He rest his head on my chest, and I was too at peace to even argue or question his motives. His claw traced around the sticky fur on my stomach and my attention moved down to him, curious why he was once again trying to make this intimate.

"I never did give you my name," he said quietly, his voice rumbling through my chest. Rubbing my eyes distractedly, I felt his hand come to a much wanted stop and he just draped it over my stomach, his thumb rubbing my tired muscles.

"I never asked, because I still have no intention of giving you mine," I said simply, and he chuckled, which wasn't the response I had been expecting.

Usually, the moment they learned I didn't care about them as more than an object, they took one of two paths; they either tried to convince me of their worthiness, or they stormed away, struggling to get their clothes on as they left.

Going against my better judgment, I brought my hand down and rest it on his side, feeling my neck twitch slightly when he didn't even flinch or attempt to pull away. I didn't know why I did it, but the only thing I could think of was how he must have seen something in me that he liked. Or something he wanted from me.

"I suppose I can understand that," he continued, his voice unfaltering. Completely unperturbed by the fact that someone who had just used him for a cheap carnal thrill was now trying to show some kind of sentiment. My comment didn't even seem to faze him in the slightest, which confused me, "times are crazy. All you have is your name, and once you lose that, you lose everything. Wouldn't want to risk me going 'round telling people about what we did. It'd ruin your life."

His voice fell off after the last sentence, and he stayed in complete silence for what seemed like an eternity. I probably should have felt happier that, for once, I hadn't just walked out on them after the act was done. I knew it probably should have given some meaning to what we'd done, and I should have felt warm fluttering in my chest as his breath rattled alongside mine, but I didn't.

It felt just as shallow as always, because as his hand stopped stroking my fur and he drifted off to sleep, I knew that any thoughts he might have had for me had faded away. Any lingering feelings he thought he might have had for me receded back into his sheath, and the only warmth I felt was the uncomfortable summer on my fur.

The candles flickered, making his fur dance in a non-existent breeze. The blue tint of the moon washed down from window behind the bed and I let out a silent sigh. Hoping he was a heavy sleeper, I slid out from under him, and he rolled onto his back with a sharp exhale before becoming completely still again. The bed didn't make a sound as I stood, and the air didn't even seem to ruffle as I walked to the corner, beside another window with closed shutters.

Pouring water from the pitch into the basin, I grabbed the towel hanging from the washstand and cleaned myself off quietly, looking around the room for his belongings. I couldn't find anything; no gun, or knife, or weapon, or anything. Replacing the towel across the bar, I walked around the room, picking up everything of mine, including my gun and knife that had fallen to the floor without me noticing.

I dropped the pile on the couch and got dressed in silence, watching him sleep peacefully. His large belly rising and falling with his slow, pronounced breathing. He had to have some form of money or something that was worth some money hidden around the room somewhere.

After straightening out my jacket, I rummaged through his vest pocket and found a battered leather wallet, much like the one I'd taken from Nathan's house earlier. It was practically empty, but I took what was left inside before putting it back and letting his vest fall to the floor. I could use it to pay for a hotel room somewhere on the other side of town, that way my entire trip in this town was paid for and all I had left was the profits from my most recent job.

I knew whoever this was wouldn't be bothered if I stayed the night, he'd actually probably be joyful, but I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to admit that it still stung every single time I thought there was something, but felt it fade away as sleep crept upon them. This way, I lost their heart but I gained their wallet.

Perhaps me stealing from him would teach him not to trust just anyone. Maybe he would learn not to talk to strangers anymore, let alone allow them to make you completely vulnerable. Who knew, perhaps I was saving his life with my spiteful act.

Spotting a half open cigar box on the table closest to the door, I took the last one before disappearing into the hallway without a sound. Once again assaulted by the drunken sounds and smells of the three men below me, I pulled out my knife and paused to cut off the end of cigar. Sliding the glass guard from one of the sconces that lined the dim hall, I lit it before jogging down the stairs.

Holding it with my lips as I walked into the center of the bar, I straightened my jacket once again, making sure that my gun and blade were adequately concealed. Slipping my hand into my back pockets as I walked up to the only occupied table, I threw a quick glance at Scarlett, who was still furtively avoiding my attention.

Walking up behind the bear with an old battered deck in my hands, I began to riffle the cards, but all three of them ignored me. Sitting down in the only empty chair with an unflinching purpose, and a rather loud scuffing of wood against wood, I rest my arms on the corner of the dark wood table, continuing to shuffle the cards. Their talking and laughing ceased almost immediately.

The bear's eyes were the first to fall on me, and they glistened with the same color and consistency as the amber liquid in his glass. He was calm, and quiet, and decisive. Watching the smoke ignite around me in the light from the overhead chandelier, I just smiled as I turned to the wolf and raccoon respectively.

Looking at me with eyes much more distant than the bear's, I was amazed how the wolf's warm colors could foster such a cold disposition. He was probably their voice, because the raccoon just looked at the bear with a curious indifference. Holding my ground, I split the deck between both my hands and made the cards dance through my fingers nimbly. Just like I thought, the wolf was the first the shatter the silence I had created.

"Who the hell 'er you?"

"Soon to be your worst nightmare," I said with a smirk, letting the cards cascade back into one stack before dropping my cigar into the iron ashtray beside their remaining butts, "do you gentleman play cards?"

"Depends on the game," the bear said, his voice deep and powerful, so much so that I could feel the table rumble softly.

"Suppose that depends on you three," I continued, moving the cards smoothly and seamlessly around in my hands, "Rummy five-hundred has always been a personal favorite. Quick and easy."

"How do we know you're not trying to cheat us?" the raccoon added, everything about him transparent from his distrust of me to the very thing he was drinking.

"Didn't say we were playing for stakes," I said, passing the deck to the bear, offering it to him to cut, "just playing for fun. I'm sure more than one of us needs some kind of alibi, right?"

No one laughed, but I had expected a flat response, especially since they didn't seem all too trusting of strangers. At least they were brighter than the wolf that still slept upstairs and didn't let me in right away. The bear seemed to have no intention of cutting the desk, so I passed out the cards while their eyes tried to dig into my calm.

I knew that even if the wolf upstairs woke up and realized I'd robbed him, there wasn't much he could do. Rather, there wasn't much he would do. He couldn't tremble down the stairs, shouting how I gipped him after what we'd done. Doing so would risk both of us being attacked, and odds were I'd use him as cover while I sneaked out the back.

Reaching for the cigar again, I followed their eyes as I tasted the smoke in my mouth. The bear seemed happy, likely because he was close to having a good meld or two, while the wolf seemed bored, and the raccoon seemed just as lost as ever. I had three of the aces, so I didn't have to worry about that. I couldn't play them yet or they'd probably know I was cheating. As if they didn't already know.

Placing an ace, a king and a queen on the table, the bear leaned back with a satisfied grin and the wolf shot back the rest of whatever was in his glass.

"So, what're you three doing in town?" I asked, curious as to why they'd just been sitting here the entire night, "just drifters passing through?"

"Supposed to be looking for someone," the bear said despite the cautioning growl from the wolf, "but we found him. Now we're just making sure he don't skip town."

"Outlaw?" I queried and the bear frowned at his cards, so I continued, knowing he'd probably have some kind of tell if I said the right one. I had the distinct feeling they were talking about the wolf upstairs, seeing as he seemed to be the only other one here, "Thief? Killer?"

"Queer," the raccoon said, completely shattering all my preconceptions about him with one word. I had expecting him to be the shy, quiet type, afraid to upset anyone or start a fight.

"Speaking of the mudsill, where'd Brett go run off to, anyway?" the wolf asked, and I felt my stomach churn slightly as I dropped the still burning cigar into the dregs of a nearby glass. I had a feeling that I'd managed to get myself into something I wasn't exactly planning on, "Nathan's going to be pissed if we lost him."

"Who's he?" I asked, my curiosity and need for some kind of answer completely over shadowing the fact that I seemed to already have a good idea of what was going on. Whoever was upstairs, he apparently had something to do with the man I'd just killed, and if it was debt, he'd be thrilled to find he didn't have to worry about it, "Brett, that is."

"Nathan Thomas' son," the bear said, curving the cards in his fingers, tilting them down before he leaned over the table and turned to look at me, "I wager that even a flannel mouth knows him?"

"Flannel mouth?" I said with a smirk, deciding we were far enough into the game to play my aces. The great thing about cards is, if you help someone cheat with them the right way, you can give just about anyone the confidence to open up, "I've never been much of a politician, myself. What's he look like? I may have seen him on my way in."

"Real thoroughbred rich kid, got everything from his daddy. Complete deadbeat and ain't ever had to work a day in his life. He even got the flush belly to prove it all," the bear continued, sneering at my aces, seemingly too dense to figure I was playing him.

"Ain't a shortage of food in that house for sure," the wolf added and everyone grunted oafishly with laughter, including myself, albeit a little scattered.

I knew for sure that they were talking about the one I'd just been upstairs with. He'd been at the bar, drunk, before he could have even possibly learned about what happened to his father. There was something to this story that I had yet to learn, but no one seemed to think too kindly to his character, so I could only guess why that was, especially given the raccoon's declaration. He seemed like a nice enough man; perhaps a little too trusting, but decent none the less.

"Ah, that one," I said, putting down a three, four and five of hearts, looking downtrodden, even though I had the king, queen and jack of spades in my hand. I just wanted to give them enough confidence to keep with the talking, "I heard an awful ruckus upstairs coming from his room. Asked him to shut it, but didn't do anything, so I came downstairs. Perhaps he had some... err, lucky lady."

"Bosh," the wolf snorted, having a hard time repressing his laughter as the bear and the raccoon sniggered. I looked at him confused, hoping they didn't know what it was that I thought they knew.

"I feel like there's something I'm missing," I mumbled, playing a single card before discarding, looking at them individually, hoping they'd elaborate.

"I heard his dad walked in on him going down on another man-"

"More like some other man made him into his woman," the raccoon said, interrupting the wolf, causing everyone to snicker again. I just perked my eyebrow and looked between the two of them silently and emotionlessly.

"Daddy kicked him out," the bear said before reaching for the bottle to take a drink straight from it.

"Lucky that's all he did," the raccoon scoffed, tossing all his cards onto the table, looking just about as interested in playing now as he had when we first started, "what he did, that's disgusting and unnatural. Makes my skin crawl just thinking of it. I'd beat within an inch of his life if his father wasn't my boss."

"Hell, maybe now that his daddy knows he's a queer, he wouldn't care enough to stop us," the wolf said, tossing the cards on top of everyone else's with a wide and malevolent grin before snatching the bottle from the bear's hand.

"They say killing's wrong," I said with a light smile as I rounded up the cards. I could feel myself getting closer to anger as they insulted him and what we did, but for both our sakes it was better to just keep it to myself, "but I guess the people who say that don't take people like him into account. Some people just deserve what they get."

"Amen to that," the raccoon roared, taking his turn with the bottle as everyone else laughed to themselves, mine the most mirthless of all.

"I like you," the bear admitted after letting out a jovial sigh. The raccoon poured some of whatever was in the bottle into a glass and pushed it across the table to me, "at first I was doubtful because you seemed like an odd stick, but yer alright. What're you doing around here?"

"Just looking for work," I answered slowly, focusing on shuffling the cards again, to try to center myself and brush away the anger.

It was odd, actually feeling sympathy for someone who I'd just used and robbed. It was actually starting to lead to remorse, knowing that I'd taken the last of his money since he'd been kicked to the curb. It bothered me even more knowing that I'd killed his father.

I'd killed many people and done many unsavory things in my life, but never before had I ever actually had to look at the recourse of my action, or seen a life beyond the five minutes I knew them. Nathan Thomas probably deserved it, and, to some extent, I'm sure even his own son agreed.

Regret wasn't setting in about the fact that I'd killed his father, it was that I'd literally taken Brett's life and left him with nothing. No family, no money, nowhere to turn to. I'd brushed him off when he needed something other than what he had, and that was something I could relate to a lot more than I liked to admit.

"I'll give you everything in my pocket to go upstairs and beef him right now, while he's likely being bent over by someone else. You'd be doing the world a favor because we don't need anymore hard cases like him. You do it, I get all the satisfaction and not of the difficulty."

"I'll do it for free," I said, surprising even myself, and, as I looked up, I could tell they were holding a similar reaction.

They stared at me, somewhat wide-eyed, as if what I'd said was pretentious, but as I caught the last card that jumped between my hands, I stood. Their eyes followed me as I pushed my chair in and leaned onto it with a devious smirk. The wolf leaned forward onto the table, obviously interested, while the bear leaned backwards onto the chair, obviously distraught.

"Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real play?" the raccoon said, following my hand as it pulled aside the flap of my jacket and put the cards back into their usual resting place. Brushing the grip of my knife, I straightened my jacket and the wolf brought his hand up to rest his muzzle on it.

"I said I was looking for work, didn't I?" I muttered quietly, looking at the bear as I shifted my footing, "never explicitly said I needed be paid for it. Suppose I could just give him a good fright and scare the queer right out of him."

"You keep going from good to better," the raccoon said and I looked at the bear, who seemed to be the only one to disagree. He remained silent as everyone studied him, though, because he didn't want to seem the weak one; being a bear always seemed to carry a lot of preconceptions.

"I've been looking for action and this is likely to cause a dreadfully fine shindy," the wolf added and the bear let out a suppressed laugh.

"It may be a while," I declared with a grin as I turned away and headed towards the stairs, "you three stay here in case he tries to leave the party."

"You got it, boss," I heard the wolf call after me as I stepped quickly up the stairs, kicking aside the bottle that I'd left at the top.

The hallway was darker, as most of the candles had gone out, and I barely had enough light to see where I was going. Using the quiet sounds of the bar below me to keep my walking straight and the faint outlines of tables to keep me from walking into the wall, I headed back towards the room I'd just told myself I'd never see again.

Opening the door quickly, I knew it wouldn't be locked. Brett still lay naked on the middle of the bed, one leg half folded as he rest on his stomach. He clutched his pillow peacefully, living in the only world that brought some kind of unbridled happiness with it. I should have felt horrible taking that shallow contentment from him as I threw his clothes at him, but I couldn't get over the fact of how stupid he was.

He groaned and pushed his pants aside, so I walked up to the side of the bed, smacking him across the back of the skull with a deep thump. He opened his eyes and looked up at me over the pillow, before grinning and cuddling into the bed once more.

"I didn't expect you to stay," he said, yawning into the pillow.

"Get up and get dressed," I commanded hollowly and he just chuckled exhaustedly.

He couldn't quite tell the urgency of the situation as I headed back towards the door and locked it, even though I knew it'd do no good against the three downstairs. All it would do is give me some form of warning that they were coming. I just knew that I had to get Brett out of here, because when Nathan turned up dead, they'd be going right after him. I should have been thrilled, because it was the perfect alibi, but all I felt something in between pity and regret.

"Am I really that much of a displeasure to look at?"

"Do it, now," I said again, pulling out the gun from the side opposite my knife. When he heard it cock, he scrambled up and I instantly thought about whose gun it was. Cursing myself in my head, I hoped that he wouldn't recognize it as his father's gun.

He looked at it with the same fear that I had promised the three thugs downstairs I would put in him. Putting the hammer back, I put it back into the waistband of my pants, realizing that he'd probably never even held a gun in his life, let alone remember what his father's looked like.

"Are you an idiot?" I growled, thrusting the pants back at him as he refused to get dressed. He did so, even if it seemed he was doing so a little begrudgingly, "Why did you do it? People will kill you if there's even a hint that you're a little bit crooked."

"What're you talking about?" he asked, standing from the bed and shoving his arms through his shirt gruffly as I glared at him, filled with an unrighteous anger. Why was I doing this? Why was I helping him? Why should I even care if he was the one who put his life in jeopardy like this? Part of the blame was mine, but it wouldn't have come to this if he hadn't been so dense.

"You just got searing hot brand on your ass that says queer, and you know who those men downstairs are, yet you chose to try to bring me upstairs?" I growled, pulling his money back out of my pocket and throwing it at him as he was about to place the wallet into his pocket. He stared at it for a second and I saw his lip twitch, but he collected it without word.

"Why are you preaching to me? Last time I saw you, and even this time, you strut around here like you don't give a damn what people think about you. Trying to hike up the dresses or slide down the trousers of everyone you meet!"

"Because I can defend myself, you can't," I said, pulling my voice back, along with my anger, until it was nothing more that a simmering growl. He looked at me as he pulled on his vest and buttoned it, like it truly mattered how he looked while on the run.

"How do you know that?" he spat, folding his arms across his chest defensively as he fought to stare me down.

"You don't have a gun. You don't have a knife. You don't even know how to use your hands, and I would know," I said, baring my teeth as my ears flicked back. He cowered back almost unnoticeably and I relented as my dominance was accepted.

"I have a -"

"No, you don't," I interrupted, and he looked at the floor, his will now broken, but he didn't even know the worst of it. He didn't know that the man who had raised him and gave him that belly, only to disavow him, was now lying breathless in his bed. I'd have to tell him eventually, or perhaps not, but I knew now wasn't the time, anyway, "I saw your stuff. All you had was those few cents to your name and the clothes on your back. You're a regular drifter now, with no home to call your own. So, why'd you do it? Did you just want to get us both killed?"

"Yes, and no," he said softly as I stared at his eyes, watching them dart between the floorboards, "I didn't want to get you killed. I was... just hoping someone would kill me. Put an end to this. I don't have anything anymore, and I was hoping that if it wasn't you, it'd be them to do it, because I'm too much of a coward to do it myself."

I stood there, deathly still in the dim, moonlit room, feeling completely and utterly shocked for what had to be the first time in my life as he looked up at me with eyes a lot sadder than I remembered them. I had looked at them before, but completely ignored it, because it's not what I'd wanted to see. Now that I'd finally admitted I might have done something wrong, I really didn't know what to think of myself, or of him, but I knew his eyes were saying the things I knew he wanted to. Moving my mouth wordlessly, I didn't quite know what to say, and I saw him smile at that.

I was supposed to be a killer, and I was supposed to be heartless. Why should I care if he wanted to kill himself? It was his life after all, and one less person taking up space meant just a little more space for me to roam. I could just kill him and leave because Nathan wouldn't be hunting me down, and neither would he. Everyone would win.

"I do remember you, though," he said, and my tail flicked nervously, wondering if this was the part where he told me how much of a fool I made myself last time, "You were... the first one I was ever with. Suppose I probably should have repressed those urges from the beginning, don't you think? But, hindsight is twenty-twenty."

I knew there were three men downstairs, expecting him to come running down the stairs naked, screaming that I had tried to kill him. And, I knew that the longer I waited, the more their trust would dwindle and the more likely they'd be to come upstairs, but I really didn't know what to say, and I wasn't even sure if I remembered how to move. The moonlight gained immense amounts of weight as it pressed my feet into the floor and rooted me.

"I just liked the way you carried yourself," he admitted softly, picking up my chin like the danger in the air had completely vanished. His touch confused me all the more, because I'd never really been touched like this, but I felt sick to my stomach as I kept a secret of great importance. Now was not the time I told myself again, "I was raised to love women, and I do, but not enough. When I saw the way you didn't care what others said about you, I thought I had what it took to be brave like that, but was I ever wrong."

It was frightening, and unnerving, to think that even while I wasn't consciously aware of what I was doing, I was changing the world around me. My very ignorance, and aloofness, had changed someone else's world. It was scary to think just how much of a ripple my actions would cause.

"My name is Brett, by the way," he said with a curious mix of emotions.

"I - I know," I mumbled and he smiled.

I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I felt tainted. My past, my actions, and the things I had yet to tell him, they made me feel trapped. It was as if touching him, or wanting him, made me even more evil than any of the deeds I'd ever done, because now I'd be acting while knowing just how wrong I was. My ignorance was shattered.

"I'm sure you know a lot of other horrible things, too, since I'm assuming they told you all about me."

Turning away, I unlocked the door and pulled out the gun, half cocking it to see that it was loaded. Unsheathing my knife, I looked at Brett, who was looking back at me with concern, wondering if I knew what the hell I was doing. The honest answer would have been no, because I could have easily snuck him out. It was just that something inside of me had to teach them a lesson, as if it'd absolve myself.

Walking quickly down the hall, I looked around and found that my eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, so I clamored down the stairs, hearing Brett behind me. As soon as I turned the corner, the three of them looked at me, bewildered for a split second as my gun was pointed at them.

The blade left my hand and flew through the air before I could even fully comprehended what I was doing. The raccoon collapsed forward onto the table, and two shots rang out through the bar as I heard someone scream. Scarlett ducked behind to counter and Brett cowered behind me as the bear fell backwards in his chair.

Clutching his right shoulder, the wolf was covered in blood and as I walked down the last three stairs into the center of the bar, another shot rang out before everything was completely silent. Following more from necessity than desire, Brett was like a shadow as I kicked back the raccoon's chair into the wall, dislodging the knife that stuck gruesomely from his chest.

I wiped it off onto his jacket before ushering Brett out the swinging door. The knife slid into it's place by my side and I grabbed the half full bottle as I stopped in the door frame. Turning to face Scarlett as she came out from under the bar, I bowed my head quietly.

"Sorry about the mess, Scarlett, but they were bad for business, anyway."