RP Apple Pie



“Not as much as you think. I only dated him for a few weeks, and I already knew it wasn’t going to work out. No sparks. He was nice, and a lot of people pushed me to say yes at the time. I’ve never been on like. A real date.” She gave a bit of an awkward grin. She used her free hand to rub the back of her neck, looking away from him.

“You’re closer to my age than I would have guessed. That’s a good thing.” She gave a small, nervous laugh, followed by a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I’m being kind of weird. I’m nervous.”

She led them through the trees, all their leaves shed, the ground spotted in places with icy patches. It would be really cold once the sun started to set, but Sam wouldn’t mind. And Oscar looked like he had come dressed for that. As they talked, they reached a bend in the path, and she stopped. She gave a quick look around and then moved to the left of the path, and lifted a branch on the nearest tree. The large branch, cracked near the base, lifted with ease for her, and she gestured under it.

On the other side was a tunnel through the trees, with the same dead-looking grass that edged the path. It was clear that no one came that way, or maybe even knew it was there. “Through here. It leads out by the canal, and I already set up some blankets. The battery for the lights should still have a charge, so it won’t be pitch black once the sun starts going down.”​
 
Sam wanted this to be a real date.

Oscar had suspected that, with her obvious nerves, but it mattered a lot that she admitted it out loud. Or – halfway admitted it, anyway, by talking about the kid who had to be Marcus, by talking about Oscar’s age. Maybe she was looking to see if he wanted the same thing, if he played along. Maybe she wanted him to ask the obvious questions – Are there sparks now? Am I nice? Do you know everyone’s trying to push us again? Was that Marcus?

For his part, he didn’t change anything about his behavior. He was sure it wouldn’t help, but they could talk about it in a little more detail once they were really alone, off the main path that smelled like other foot traffic under the ever-present cinnamon scent.

“You’re not being weird at all,” he assured her, then ducked under the branch. He had to stay halfway ducked to avoid scraping his head on low-hanging branches that reached out to tangle in his hair. He paused long enough for her to follow, the tunnel just big enough for the two of them with his narrow frame.

When she joined him, he walked like someone used to measuring with his weight where invisible ice waited for the unsuspecting, slowing his pace from a wolfish lope to something more cervine and careful, keeping one eye on Sam like he wanted to make sure she didn’t lose her footing, either.
 


Sam sighed softly.She felt weird. Everything about him made her feel a weird and tangled mess of emotions. She walked carefully through the tunnel of trees with him, giving him an apologetic smile at how much he had to duck. She was silent the rest of the way, which wasn’t far. It was through the densest part of the woods, which meant that once they came out the other side, they'd be invisible from the main path.

The other end of the tunnel came into view and Sam stepped through, her boots crunching some ice. She didn’t slip but was still careful when she moved off of it. There was a small grass-covered embankment on the outside, with a series of blankets laid out on the earth. Strung up in the trees were several long strings of fairy lights. It overlooked the canal, with was frozen at the edges with thin sheets of ice.

This was the spot she and Alice used to come to escape from the world for a while. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had brought Oscar to such a sacred place, but she had. She was sharing with him a space that she herself had been reluctant to return to until that day. Something about that just felt right, maybe like she was supposed to bring him there.

Of course, Sam trusted her gut on these things. She had never once been steered wrong by the Vibe Checker. Not once. Which was part of the reason she was so confused about her mixed emotions about him. Her Vibe Checker was giving her mixed signals. But she was going to make the best of it.

“Okay. We should have plenty of privacy out here. Even without the leaves, the woods are too dense out here to see through.” She rubbed her arm and went to sit on the blanket, setting the picnic basket down. She took a look around and breathed in the scent of the waterside, the soft scent of fresh water and earth and winter. She smiled at him and gestured toward the blanket.​
 
Oscar kept the quiet of the forest and his companion while they walked. He listened to the soft crunch of ice under their boots, as careful as they were. The soft rustle of branches rubbing against each other, and the rumple of the paper bag on his arm all filled the space instead, and the soft sounds of animals moving about on the bare bark. It was peaceful, and the air slowly cleared of people – not civilization, as there were still traces of exhaust and other things from the nearby parking lot. But it was quieter, he’d admit. It gave his senses a break.

He paused when he saw the scene setup. The fairy lights were an unexpected touch, but the classic picnic layout was what caught his eye first. She hadn’t been kidding about getting some things set up. He had an extra flashlight in his back pocket, but with the clear sky and fairy lights, the night wouldn’t be dark at all. His expression softened around the edges as he looked at Sam, until he saw her gesturing for him to sit down before her. Then his grin came back, and he nodded approval.

“Very nice. Best view in town, I’m sure.” He paused as if thinking about it, then looked at her again with a little sparkle in his eyes. “Well, second-best, actually.”

He took his seat, feeling pleased, if well aware that wasn’t going to help her confusion at all. It expressed that he might be interested, if she asked. Or it could just express that he flirted as a way to relieve tension. It wasn’t an uncommon method. He didn’t leave room for her to speak up right away, instead starting to unpack the grocery bag.

“Alright. We’ve got two lemonades – the glass bottle says ‘cane sugar’ so I figured it was worth a shot.” He set them down on the blanket, and sure enough, the glass bottles did advertise cane sugar. “One cream soda, two iced teas – one sweet, one ‘original’, whatever that means – a couple bottled waters, one twelve-pack A&W, and a thermos of hot chocolate with two cups. Sadly made with water instead of milk, but my hotel room doesn’t have a kitchenette so I had to make do.”

He arranged the drinks to leave room for her to sit next to him, then set the bag aside behind him. He’d save the rest for – well, after they got over the hump of “is this a date or a secret identity reveal, or both?” Which sounded like a horrible game-show idea, and was probably also a horrible hangout idea, since either of them taking it the wrong way could lead to heartbreak.

At least it was still early enough he could cut and run if that happened, but his gut told him that might not be necessary. Maybe he should be worried about being so isolated with her, but the clear air and sunlight that cut through the winter chill dispelled anything of the sort. One lunch with her wouldn’t hurt anything, no matter how it ended.
 


Sam smiled and giggled at the arrangement of beverages that Oscar pulled out of his bag. The giggle may have come out more nervous than not, but it was genuine all the same. Her smile reached her eyes, which twinkled with humor. She followed him up by pulling the heavy basket around in fron of them. She pulled out two plastic plates, the kind that were multicolored with rings of designs.

“There’s no way we’re getting through all of that. Now, as for actual food…” She began unpacking the box, removing the items one by one and laying them out in their bags. “Obsviously, I wasn’t sure what you’d like either, but, we have honey roasted turkey, black forest ham, salame, and herb crusted chicken for the meats. We have sharp cheddar, swiss, and provolone for the cheeses. And then I got an assortment of veggies to go on it, as well as every sauce you could possibly want.”

Bag after bag, bottle after bottle, and finally a large loaf of honey wheat bread made their way onto the blankets. She laid it out behind the bottles, scooting to sit close to him. After she had laid everything out, she paused, her lips parted. Her heart beat was filling her ears as she turned to look at him.

“Listen, I– I uhm, I want to clear something up. I want this to be a real date. I-I think that we need to talk about something first, to get it out of the way, but I want this to be a real date. Is that okay?” She looked up to meet his eyes, those dawn sky blue eyes that made her stomach twist in knots.

This was risky. He could have not put it together. But he also could have, and wasn’t really interested in this being a date. That was why she had to set the record straight, sooner rather than later. Even if it did leave a blush on her cheeks so dark it may as well have blotted out her freckles entirely. She watched his eyes, looking for some hint of his feelings as she waited for his response.​
 
Oscar laughed as she commented on the assortment he’d brought. “I like having options. Keeps things interesting.”

And maybe that was why he watched her arrange the food with a quiet intensity. She’d clearly gone for both quality and quantity on the meal. He kept his eyes on the food even as the smell of meats and sauces mixed with the cinnamon that always seemed to fill the air around her. The combination would be enough to make anyone’s mouth water, especially if their only meal today had been those waffle fries.

It was almost enough to distract from the way that she sat close enough to him for him to feel her body heat, naturally higher than his and so much warmer than the crisp winter breeze that tried to cut through their layers from the canal. He grounded himself when she looked at him, all distraction and thoughts of food banished from his mind by the sincerity in her eyes. There was something they needed to discuss, that was true. That was probably her reveal.

But she wanted this to be real. Something real, whether it lasted or not. Something good for one night, or at least while the sun still shone. That was a bad idea. The worst possible idea in their circumstances, in his circumstances. Though… maybe not the worst possible circumstances. She’d only dated Marcus for a few weeks, she’d said. He was a complete stranger – there was a really good chance they wouldn’t work out, especially with her mix of nerves and attraction.

This could be a good experience, if nothing else.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, actually.” The sharpened edges around his eyes softened a little, the intense observation and interpretation. “Maybe just – the one, for now? And we’ll see how it goes before we think about an after. I’m pretty sure that’s how dating usually goes.”

He took a deep breath, then set his arm behind him to lean back on it. A little bit of the keenness came back into his eyes, though his voice stayed collected.

“But you wanted to talk about something first?”
 

She sighed, an obvious breath of relief. Part of the knot that had been seated in her stomach was untangled. In fact, it almost left completely, leaving her with just that hint of unease. She looked down and then back up at him, her eyes sparkling. “The one for now. And we’ll see how it goes.”

She hadn’t realized how much of her nerves had been tied up in that question, in that desire, but now that she searched for nerves about telling him her secret, she couldn’t find them. Maybe the relief in his agreeance had just been so strong that it had overwritten those nerves. Maybe she hadn’t been nervous about it to begin with. Either way, she had already made the choice, by acknowledging it.

She looked down and played with the edges of her sleeves for a moment before she looked up, her expression serious. “I have this feeling that you… know already. Which is why I don’t mind admitting to it. But we both know today wasn’t the first time we met.”

She pulled down the top of her shirt, moving the fishnet neck aside to show off the red neck of her suit. “I know that you know that you’ve seen this suit before. And if I were to pull that mask out of my bag, you wouldn’t be surprised at all, would you?”

She let go of her neckline, and it snapped back up and into place under her spiked collar. She sighed, softly. Looking out at the water, she said in a soft voice, “You know, this is probably a bad idea. I haven’t told anyone since Alice, but she was like me. Not exactly like me. She was way more powerful than I am. But she was like me. That made her safe. You’re… not safe. You’re not safe because you’re normal. I think I can trust you, but I also don’t want to see you get hurt because of this. I don’t want you to… end up like her. She was special and powerful, and she’s– she’s still dead. Being around a vigilante is dangerous. I’m dangerous. I could kill you.”

She stopped for a moment and took in a breath. “I want to partner up with you, all the same. I think that you’d be really helpful. I, I have to admit– being Wildcat is lonely.”

She breathed out in a soft sigh, then looked back up at him, waiting for whatever judgment he might pass.​
 
“To be honest, I was a little torn between faking surprise, since this has got to be like… a very important thing for you, and just– here. I might as well now.”

He looked a little bashful, but turned around and rummaged in the paper bag to fish out the Hot Topic tote. He’d already torn the tags off, and was pretty sure he’d gotten the size right. Inside was a Skelanimals hoodie – one of the ones with bones outlined around the arms and ribs, and a little heart detailed on the left side. This one specifically had cat ears attached to the hood as well. It was supposed to be his reveal, after all.

“Now, I can’t tell you to do anything, but this was supposed to be an unsubtle hint that you should maybe you should cover up your hair when you’re solving murder mysteries. Or at least put tinted lenses in that mask, since your eyes are so unique.”

Maybe there was just a hint of flirtation in unique, and in the way he laughed softly after, but both faded as he shook his head. She was worried about him being involved. Understandable, after Alice, though this confirmed she didn’t die randomly of heart failure during a blackout. Now wasn’t the time to ask after that.

“What I’m doing isn’t any less dangerous than what you’re doing anyway. It’s just not as public. I ended up in a drug dealer’s trunk one time back in Detroit. It– would’ve been nice, not to have had to kick out the tail light myself.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, letting them catch in his curls and gently untangling them with a few tugs. Her relief seemed to be rubbing off on him, and he lost some of the ‘charming stranger’ mask he’d worn for the last few weeks.

“What I’m saying is – I’m okay with dangerous. And maybe doing what I’m doing is lonely, too. You can only do so much with the independent noir detective look before you remember why they usually have partners or sidekicks. So… even if all this–” he gestured to the picnic “– doesn’t work out, I’d still like to work together. I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. I think it’d be pretty great.”

He paused. As if, for a second, he had a doubt. Then he laughed a little again, shaking his head.

“Though, as soon as Ann finds out I’m working with the Wildcat, she’s going to want me all over your case, and she’s the one paying me to stay in town, so. Just a heads up I might be asking you what exactly you’re cool with the papers knowing.”
 


Sam made it all the way to the end before letting her relief out in a full-body laugh, the kind where you curl in on yourself and start to lose your balance even though you’re sitting. She held the hoodie in her hands and then up to her chest, clutching it while laughter wracked her small form. She leaned into Oscar’s side as she took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

“I’m sorry, that wasn’t that funny I’m just, I’m so relieved that you’re being so casual about it. That I was right, that you had figured it out. That I didn’t just, y’know, tell you all that only to have it be that you didn’t know to start with. I figured since Detective Shaw figured me out, you probably had, too.” She started running her fingers over the front of the jacket, a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes looked far away.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had gotten her a present that was so… her. Her parents had tried, for a while. But they had so much trouble figuring out exactly what it was their teenage daughter wanted that they had eventually resorted to just talking her to the stores herself to get whatever she wanted. Sam’s grandmother had always gifted her new painting supplies, but that still wasn’t quite the same. That was a hobby that didn’t require much thought to supply gifts for. But this, this hoodie, not only was it a play on her vigilante identity, but it was so intrinsically her, it felt.

This man barely knew her at all. They had met, for real, just that day. Not only had he gone out of his way to look the part of someone she would date, he got her a gift that screamed her. She turned her soft smile up to him and let it spread to her eyes, which glittered in the fading sunlight. Above them, the fairy lights began to show their light. She looked up for a moment at the faint outline of the moon rising.

“Thank you for this. It’s thoughtful. Everything you’ve done has been… thoughtful.” She smiled, and for the first time since they had met a week ago, looking at him didn’t bring an unease. She felt perfectly content. She looked back down at the hoodie and unzipped the front. Pushing her arms through the sleeves, she pulled it on, but left it open.

She smiled back up at him again, her expression soft. She pulled her knees up to her chest, catching his eyes with hers. She gestured to the picnic and then between the two of them. “I would like for this to work out. I have a good feeling about you. But if it doesn’t, well, I’d still like for us to be partners. So I’m glad we’ve agreed on that at least.”

She paused and blew some air out from between her lips, a not-quite-a-whistle. “Date things. We’re supposed to get to know each other, right? So how about we start with something easy? Where’s home for you, Oscar?”​
 
He swallowed a little bit as she pressed her body against him, as her laughter filled the cooling air like windchimes in a thunderstorm. The action was nervous, maybe, caught as it was in a little hitch in his breath. He didn’t let it show in his eyes, whatever it was. He didn’t want the moment to end, and so when she looked up at him, she’d see his own eyes sparkling back, his smile softer than it had been all day.

He only broke the eye contact, with a little sigh that ended in another shaky laugh, when she asked her question.

“I– don’t really have one.” He shrugged, and then looked back at her. The proximity between them was making his heart pound and his skin crawl, but in a way that made the soft smile firm, that reflected in the look he gave her. “I like the road too much to settle down anywhere for too long. It’s something we’d need to discuss if we were thinking about doing this more often. Or long-term.”

Maybe, he could be convinced to stick around. With the right incentive.

“I’d ask you the same thing, but according to literally everyone, you’ve been around here your whole life. So– do you plan to stick around?”
 

She tilted her head at his answer, at his elevated heartbeat. The feeling of it beating through her shoulder made her own rise in response. That was one side effect of feeling people’s heartbeats. Sometimes, your own responded to it. But in this case, she thought it was as much from how close she realized he was as how hard his heart was beating.

“That sounds nice. I love this town, this city, but I– I don’t want to stay here. I want to see other places. I think there’s so many places that need a Wildcat. I think that I could do good if I traveled. So who knows, maybe I would… go with you.” Her voice trailed off as she realized how much she was offering, suggesting, when they still barely knew each other. She cleared her throat and looked down with a wry smile.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sound. I wasn’t trying to imply that.” She looked back up with the same soft smile, now edged with humor. “What are normal date questions? Basic things, I assume. What’s your favorite color? Or maybe your favorite food? Or maybe you could tell me about some of the places you’ve been. There’s a lot of space between Superior and Columbus.”

She leaned forward and picked up one of the lemonades. She took it, rolling the bottle between her hands. Some of the nerves had set back in,m but now they weren’t high in her chest. They were lower, warm, and gentle. Real nerves, real shyness. She looked back up at him, her eyes softening in a way that they had yet to do.​
 
He laughed again, this time with reassurance in the tone as she realized she might’ve taken it too far. She really, really must like what she’d seen of him to go so far as to offer that. At least she caught herself. It was a good thing he had incentive to stick around for a bit.

“Well, you see, there’s this beautiful shade of honey-yellow that I really think it’s growing on me.” He looked deep into her eyes, mouth crooked and teasing. His own eyes, however, were a little bit guarded, as if there was something being suppressed there, despite how openly he was flirting. “As for food… I think I’ll try anything once. Sweet more than savory is probably better.”

He took a slow, deep breath to try to settle his pulse, and opened the box of A&W. He cracked the can open, took a sip while it still audibly fizzed, and relaxed again, as if the drink had grounded him.

“You want me to start with that time in Detroit? It really wasn’t so bad…”
 

Sam was patrolling. Or rather, Wildcat was. She threw herself from rooftop to rooftop, leaping almost like a real cat might. She wore her usual costume of a red and black suit, black cat mask, black heavy-duty boots, and a black leather bolero, but this time she had a few small additions. She had added a hood to the leather jacket, a black, deep hood, that covered all of her hair. Her mask now sported yellow lenses as well, yellow like the color of a wild cat’s eyes.

She was running, moving quickly through the towns. She had cleared Lockbourne and was now running through Far South. The buildings here were denser, closer together, and made for easier traversing. She had been on patrol for almost three hours, so it was nearing midnight.

There had been another murder, two weeks prior. She and Oz– Oscar had investigated the crime scene, but they hadn’t turned up anything they hadn’t already discussed about the first incident, where they had met. There had been claw marks, but not like anything an animal would make, much less a bear. Missing body, blood everywhere, and pieces of viscera and bone left behind. The bodies were obviously being dismantled in some way, but they had yet to determine how based on the small fragments left behind.

She had also seen Oscar in a less… professional capacity. They had been getting along pretty well. The unease in her stomach never quite left her, but she decided to ignore it. She really liked him. He was normal, he was kind, he was sweet, and when they were together she was the center of his attention. Sometimes, too much so. She sometimes caught an intense gaze that she couldn’t quite decipher, but it left her shivering every time. In a good way. Those moments felt more like him than anything else did. He made her feel things. What things, she couldn’t yet tell, but she was working on working it out.

She was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of feet running below her as she jumped between buildings. A man, running with a limp down the alleyway. She frowned, and flipped back off the building. She created a net with her heat, lowering herself to the ground with just enough force to do the stereotypical superhero landing. She tilted her head to the side and looked the man over.

Tattoos, a lot of them, a black beanie and a hoodie and jeans. He looked panicked as he continued to run– toward her. The man looked relieved to see her. That was when she noticed his leg. There was blood across the bottom of his pants, and she saw a small blood trail behind him.

“Oh thank fuck, you gotta help me. You’re Wildcat, right? Please, this guy’s a fucking psycho– wait, is this a fucking dead end?!” She turned around and saw the brick wall behind them, some thirty feet away. She turned back to the man, who was getting progressively more worked up. “Fuck, fuck, we’re going to die.”

“Slow down, tell me what’s happened. Sir, I need you to breathe.” Her voice was low, at least an octave lower than her daytime voice, with a rasp that it only had hinted at. She looked behind the man, toward the front of the alley.

“Look man, I’m just a dealer, I don’t hurt no one, you got to help me. I’ll go to jail or whatever, I just don’t want to die. Please, you have to stop him.”

“Who? Slow down and tell me who you’re run–”

Just as she asked the question, she heard the noise. Grating, like metal on brick, and painful to her ears, even without enhanced hearing. The man in front of her cried and started running for the back of the alley. “I’m not fucking dying!”

She looked up at the entrance to the alley. A figure was there, arm raised and dragging across the brick wall. She sucked in a breath as she saw the glint of the street light on the metal claws. This was her man. She lifted her hammer in front of her and adjusted her grip on it. He was dangerous to a regular human, but she was Wildcat, and it was time to show this serial killer what that meant.​
 
He was most himself at the heart of the hunt, when he let his heart and mind fall to the pulse of its tune. To the pulse of feet. To the pulse in his ears, to the pulse that pushed warm blood from the injury in the prey. The hunter was in no hurry, now that the prey was injured. The first half of the hunt was nearly done, after all, and the rabbit was running right down the hole the fox intended. Now he added new notes of claw to the symphony of blood and sweat and terror.

Fear was one of the key ingredients of a hunt, a true hunt, the kind that made a hunter’s heart race and his mouth water and his eyes turn cold and eager. Blood and fear and chase. Sometimes, there was fight before flight, and he enjoyed that nearly as much. This one was a runner, though, and already, less than an hour in, had already wasted most of his precious energy running right where the wolf wanted him to go. Such a shame, such a shame. For him, anyway. For the hunter, this was – not routine, exactly. Not exactly. Every hunt was different, each prey a surprise.

This one, for example, had found himself a sheepdog, or a wolfhound, more like. He’d heard the prey begin to beg before the wind brushed against the hunter’s nose and told him that tonight, oh, tonight was going to be something special indeed, however mundane the main course was going to be. Cinnamon was such a unique flavor to add to the intoxication of the hunt, and as he emerged into the yellow light of the streetlamp, he finally opened the eyes he’d stolen from another poor soul. Now, instead of fear, those eyes were bright, with a sharpness that did not belong in the soft brown of the iris, in the doe-like roundness of their shape.

He came to a stop in the spotlight, his breath slow and even. His head lifted over square shoulders, his black coat swept around his legs. The light showed only one eye; the other, and his mouth, were hidden in shadow behind the thick plastic of the mask he wore. Horns curled back over his light brown hair, and the smiling mouth was jagged with animal teeth. The masked head tilted as the eye seemed to come into focus.

He took a deep breath of the blood and the fear and the cinnamon and the rage. His mouth flooded at the idea– ah, but this might not be the time. He swallowed, slowly, and focused back on the Wildcat that crouched between him and his rat.

“S’cuse me, miss, I think you’ve got something of mine.” His voice was soft, but projected like an actor at the heart of the stage. The prey had heard it already, in quiet but bone-chilling taunts and hollow promises of quick death. It was a voice that suited the soft brown hair and eye, but did not suit the sharp look or gaunt figure. He let his arm relax, then slipped his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat.

“Sorry for the trouble. Let me take him off your hands and we won’t give you any more trouble.”

And the eye twitched back toward the little mouse, and softened at the edges with what must have been a true smile under the false grin of the mask. Yet even through two layers of lies, the hunter knew. This was the truest self, the heart of the matter, the monster under the man. And there was nothing in the world like him – nothing to challenge him for his position at the top of the food chain, even if Wildcat hissed and showed her claws. Even she smelled good enough to eat.
 

Wildcat shivered as the man stepped forward. She was crouched slightly, hammer raised, and about to retort, when something strange and unexplainable happened. Deep inside her chest, a weight fell into place. It pulled with it strings from all across her body. The tugged and were yanked taunt toward her heart, which began to pound. It pulled on something in her brain, and everything came into sharp focus.

A sudden heat rose from her stomach and met the heat that spread from her heart, where the weight had fallen. And then, it clicked into place almost audibly. Her eyes went wide as her heart twisted in her chest in a way even Oscar hadn’t managed yet. Her hammer slipped slightly in her hand and she grabbed the hammer more firmly. She swallowed back whatever she was feeling, whatever this was, and pulled herself into an offensive stance, ready to dash for him.

Behind her, the man who had run to her was trying to scale the wall. “Fuck this shit, man. I’m not dying today!”

Wildcat didn’t look back. She kept her eyes on the man in front of her, the man in the mask. The papers had started calling him the Slasher, but Wildcat had never believed in giving these monsters names. They already had names, their human names, and in order to reach them and truly save them, those names meant far more than any moniker.

Right now, there was a monster in front of her.

Right now, her heart was beating hard.

Right now… she felt a blush form on her cheeks and spread down her neck. Oh no. Oh god no. Was she attracted to him?

“... Sorry, but I can’t do that.” Normally she would have a witty response, a quip that would have been designed to specifically make him angry, to make him careless. She found that she couldn’t bring herself to say one. The rasp in her voice had faded as her voice involuntarily raised. She shook her head and moved her body to completely block the man behind her, who she could hear still scrambling for the wall.

Inside her, that heat began to churn, begging for some kind of release. She held it in, her body tense to prevent it from exploding out of her. Her heat was dangerous, her fire like an inferno, and it had to be kept under control. No matter how badly she suddenly felt the desire to run to him, to throw herself into his arms, to touch him. She couldn’t let the heat out, or the heat would take her.​
 
At the heart of the hunt, there are only three kinds of creature. There is the hunter, he who chases; there is the prey, that which is chased, that which is only living food; and there is the threat, that which might end the hunt and cannot be prey, for one reason or another. The threat always was just prey, in an advantageous position.

Wildcat may have been a threat, or may become a threat, coiled as she was to spring. But in her hesitation, the hunt sensed something amiss, a moment of weakness; and in that moment, she was nothing to the hunter but cinnamon-prey, sweet and soft, smelling not of fear but rage and spice and… something. Something yet unclear.

The running-prey – tonight’s meal – was still scrabbling for an exit. Soon he’d become desperate enough to try to run past the monster that chased him, the one that was hardly wide enough to block his escape. That had been the plan for tonight’s hunt, at least. But the only thing that was going according to plan was the rise in fear carried on the eddying breeze, drowning out whatever the cinnamon-prey was feeling.

“Why not? He’s nothing to you. He’s scum. He sells addiction to kids and never partakes himself. Your city will be happy to be rid of him.” Both truths. The hunter seemed to consider for a few seconds, as if wondering if he could add to the list of the running-prey’s crimes, but nothing else really came to mind under the wonderful scents of the alley, eddying from the dead-end. “Hardly the worst monster I could have picked, I know, but beggars can’t be choosers and – well. A guy’s gotta eat.”

And his voice became frigid for the last line, but it wasn’t for the courtesy of the cinnamon-prey. The brown eye turned again to the running-prey, and a hollow light shone in it. The hunter was patient, sure, and could continue to be; he was hardly starving, just yet, even if the cold gnawed gently on his bones under the thrum of the song, begging to be sated. That didn’t mean he was unwilling to play with his food.

An idea crossed his mind, and the hungry eye turned back to the hero, to the cinnamon-prey that stood as if she could pounce on him. “Unless you’d like to take his place? You’re hardly more than a mouthful, but god, you certainly smell better.”
 

An intense thrill of horror ran through her as she listened to him talk. There was no mistaking what he was saying. Her serial killer ate people. That explained the lack of bodies. He was a cannibal. He was a cannibal and he wanted to eat her, found her scent good enough to eat. Her thoughts were racing as she tilted her head, narrowing her gaze on the monster in front of her.

That thrill of horror did nothing to stop the thrumming of her heart, the roiling heat inside her, the way her body suddenly ached to touch his, or the way she swallowed hard around the feelings. An unwanted memory flashed through her mind. Her, standing on the embankment of the canal, the same place she had taken Oscar just a month ago, dressed in her newly made suit and jacket, the mask she had made herself in her hands. The sound of footsteps through the tunnel behind her, and a girl walking out. A tall, russet-skinned, dark-haired girl, in a green and black dress, padded with armor and complete with a butterfly-winged mask. A click in her chest as they locked eyes, and then a smile crossing both their faces, despite never having met each other before.

They had known one another, her and Alice. Right when they met, they had known each other. She had known Alice with her whole heart, even before she knew her name. And Alice had become the most important person in her life for almost three years. Even now, Alice still affected her, still helped her, still hurt her.

A click in her chest, not unlike this one. One that had been euphoric and joyful, unlike this one so full of attraction and heat. No, god no.

Wildcat believed in several things that had stopped her from dating before Oscar. She believed in the soulmate theory, the theory that there was a person for everyone, that everyone had one person in the world who would complete them, could balance them. She believed in the idea of love at first sight, too. That when you met your soulmate, you would know them, they would know you, and you would love each other from the moment that you met. She had believed this ever since she was a child. She had believed it when she and Alice clicked the first time they had ever seen each other.

Alice had been her soulmate. They had balanced each other perfectly, had evened out the scales, had fallen into orbit around each other like satellites around their planets. Perfect other halves, perfectly in sync, who understood each other so well they didn’t need words. But Alice had died, and they had never really been in love with one another. Alice had always been meant for her as a friend. Someone who filled her voids in a way that left her whole enough for whoever came next.

Now, she wished she didn’t believe in any of it.

Now, she wished that she had died when Alice had.

Now, she wished that she could run away, forget all about any of her beliefs, forget about this feeling she felt now.

It wasn’t love. No. But it was everything that would eventually become love, if given the right circumstances. It was the passionate want, the indescribable need, the softening of her edges, the tumbling of her walls. It left a path wide open, and she was desperately trying to close it back up, to build newer, stronger walls to block that entrance.

Was she a monster? Was she broken? What did this mean? She steeled herself and twirled her hammer around. The smooth side flipped to the back, and the studded side flipped to the front. She would be merciful, she decided. She would make the fight quick, and as painless as possible. And then, while he was in prison, she would visit him. She would figure this out then. Because right now, she had a life to protect, and another to save.

She couldn’t afford to be distracted by the fact that he was her soulmate.

If she was soulmates with this monster, then… she didn’t know. She didn’t know what this meant. She didn’t know how to think about this. Did this make her less worthy than already felt for the love of these people, for their veneration, for their gratitude? Her breathing hitched in her chest as she felt his heartbeat through the pavement. It was strong, even, almost perfectly so, but it had hitched twice, raising in tempo. The first time, she wasn’t sure why. The second time, was when he made her his offer. For her to take the man’s place.

She ignored the flush on her face, the quivering in her body, and the heat that called for him. Instead, she tilted her head to the side and let her voice fall back into its natural pitch and rasp, and she said, in a tightly controlled voice, “Don’t think I can do that either. I don’t think you’re going to be eating tonight. You’d be better off turning yourself in to me. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to surrender, could I?”

Despite the lower pitch, despite the rasp, there was something else in her voice. An uncertainty mixed with an edge of want. She bit the inside of her cheek, letting the pain clear her mind. She couldn’t be distracted in any way. The man behind her could die. She could get injured. Or even worse, she could explode, her heat burning everything in her vicinity. She shivered and held her ground, waiting to see what he would do.​
 
Sadly, the answer was to be expected. Who would offer their throat to a carnivore? No one sane, no one normal, no one no matter how heroic.

When she spoke, though, there was something in her voice that made his head tilt the other way. What was it about her – what was that on her scent? Why did she carry her body with a sudden new – new? – tenseness? Had she stopped being tense, for a moment? Had her muscles relaxed, had the look under the golden lenses changed? Had her eyes widened, had her lips started to tremble?

The light in the hunter’s eyes changed as the pieces came together. The chill swept through him in a wave of interest, of excitement, of eagerness, a reflection of what he saw. His nostrils flared under the mask, and he swallowed again to avoid outright drooling. His tongue traced the outline of his lips. A new sound resonated into the Hunt, a single word that echoed in the space where his soul should have been.

Mine.

She was so… delicious. He’d already known how small and tender she was under that suit, how much was muscle and how little was fat, how soft her skin must be just from the white jaw the cat mask showed. He’d been flooded with her scent, cinnamon and apples and vanilla and jasmine, sweat and fury. Sweet and spicy and salty all at once. What human food compared to the treat she embodied?

And even more than that. Even more was the tremulous moment, the moment the hunt knew and told the hunter; and the hunt never lied. The hunt knew that some part of her soul understood what they were in the deepest sense. They were destined for wholeness, perfect predator and perfect prey.

He didn’t lose the tension of the hunt, but he shifted his weight, turned his head so the light came into the parted jaws of the mask and showed the knowing smile as the brown eye met hers. One step, then another, and he started pacing the width of the alley, never coming closer, but now in motion.

“That’s a shame, really, given you seem so interested. Not often I find food that might be willing, with the right… incentive.”

He paced slowly, deliberately, while he spoke to her. His voice was still low, still soft, but carried the laugh he wasn’t letting out from between those lips, because to part them too far was to bare his fangs and maybe scare off one or the other of the pieces of meat now cornered in the alley.

The alley was narrow, but he could move past her while staying out of arm’s reach. If he wanted, he could put on the burst of speed necessary to finish the running-prey and give the cinnamon-prey his full attention. That would be easy. And, more importantly, that would corner him.

So when he returned to the center of the alley, and paused there, he took a step back. His hands slipped from his pockets, fingers curled to the same angle as the claws, creating the illusion of surrender, of safety. The same illusion as closed lips gave to other predators, instead of bared teeth.

“But, if Wildcat insists, I’ll simply walk away. Lucky for our rabbit. Tonight, this one is all yours.”

She wouldn’t leave well enough alone. If she would, his hunt would not have declared her perfection. He wouldn’t leave the prey behind because he would know he’d be satisfied by that. But she was now marked by the hunt as more than prey. He was sure that as he turned, as he put his back to her and moved at a stroll back the way he’d come, unafraid and careless, she couldn’t help but take the bait.
 

“See, that isn’t going to work for me either.” Sam started to move forward, her steps precise and slow. She tipped her head forward, letting the mask’s teeth obscure her jaw and lips. She pressed her lips together hard to stop their trembling, but his words sent a new wave of warmth through her. God, but he knew. Did that mean he had felt it too? But no, he was still talking about her as though he wanted to eat her. What did this mean? That he could tell from just the changes in her body language that she wanted him? No, that was absurd. He had to have felt it too.

Then, he turned to leave. Fuck no. This was not happening. Soulmate or not, she wasn’t going to be letting her serial killer roam free.

“I think you’ll find that I’d much rather you stay!”

On the word stay, she darted forward, using her full speed to move. As her feet moved over the ground, her mind began to work a mile a minute, shuffling through as many thoughts as it could before she reached him.

She thought about what this meant for her. Soulmates were all about balance. They rounded each other out and filled each other’s cracks and crevices. Wildcat was a figure of justice, a figure of good, and this man was a monster. Was that where their balance lay? Between good and evil? Or was there something else, something darker inside her, that he provided some kind of counter to?

She thought about Her attraction to him. She hadn’t even seen his face, hadn’t seen anything more than soft and big brown eyes, staring back at her from behind the mask. She hadn’t seen anything of him beneath that black coat. She had seen nothing of him. And yet, she felt an ache run through her as sped toward him, hammer rising in her hands, preparing to swing. She felt want running through her, felt desire for his touch, for his arms. She wanted to drop the hammer and just throw herself into him.

She thought about… Oscar. Oscar, whose eyes were the opposite of these soft brown eyes. She hadn’t thought about him since the moment she had laid eyes on this Slasher, and that left her crippled with guilt. It flooded through her and helped to tame the fire that roared beneath her skin. How could she have forgotten about Oscar so completely in such a short time? She had thought of almost nothing but him for the last month, and here she was, allowing this monster to control her thoughts.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t allow this monster to overthrow her thoughts, to weasel his way into her mind. Even if he was her soulmate, he was also a serial killer, and he had to be brought in, had to be removed from the population, and be rehabilitated.

After all, even monsters could be saved.

She swung her hammer, aiming for his broad shoulders​
 
She was fast, he’d give her that. That was only to be expected of a rabbit, though.

He’d never met someone like him before. Not that the cinnamon-prey – his perfect prey – was anything like him. One who could give in to the chase, but not a predator. But she was different. She was above human. Meta-human, people called them. He’d avoided them for the most part. It was about time he met one, and oh, what a one to meet. Meat, even, as he felt her close the gap faster than humanly possible, faster than he would’ve been able to at the very center of the hunt.

But he was at the center of the hunt, and he was fast, and he was stronger. As his gut warned him of how close she was, he slipped to one side, the pent-up energy from his previously slow pace flooding his veins alongside the frigid hunger. She swung wide, and now away from him, without space to swing back before his hand curled into a fist and he went in for a low punch to her abdomen.

His voice was low, and dangerous, tinged with something slightly inhuman as he struck: “If you insist, my sweet Apple Spice.”

Even if it didn’t puncture, the force behind the blow and the one that followed – aimed higher, toward her naked chin – would push her back toward the wall. While he moved with speed and strength, there was something… no, not casual. Rhythmic, smooth, and flowing, like a big cat mid-pounce, slow and unbelievably fast at the same time. So sure of his own ability, so experienced with his own invincibility, rooted in the knowledge that he was hunter and she was prey, that there was never doubt that his strike would land.
 
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