Miguel's breaths calmed, his talons retracting and his snarl slowly easing into a frown.

His curse took hold much more frequently now. What at first had been sporadic had turned into a daily event. Without his traveling companion's magic to keep the curse at bay, he would've been lost to it long ago. It'd been pure luck that they'd run into one another, that Miguel had been broken out of his trance at all.

Miguel had spent years roaming the land as a mindless servant of the Spider Queen. The ancient nightkin had lured him into her lair long ago, back when he was a simple researcher, a family man. Following that sweet scent into that cavern had cost him everything. As the curse took hold, it had overwhelmed Miguel's senses, stripping him of his humanity, giving him fangs, talons, and an insatiable need to kill in the name of his mistress.

"Perdóname," he murmured in his native tongue—the dialect of his home. Of the people he'd slaughtered when he first lost control. Of his lost family. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He tried to keep the concern out of his voice. Tried to keep his traveling companion at arm's length. Loathed his dependence on someone else to function. If he could've taken himself out, he would've, but death wasn't a mercy granted to him. The curse wouldn't let him go so easily.

Besides, nightkin were dangerous. Before all of this, he'd specialized in them. Knew their every weakness. Someone had to hunt them, to prevent more of him from being made. He would kill as many as he could, he'd decided, and when he was strong enough, he'd strike at the Spider Queen herself.

Or so his plan had been. Now he could barely keep his wits about him for a whole day. "I need you to listen to me," he rasped, his tone grave. "If I ever lay a finger on you, or anyone, I need you to lock me up somewhere I can't get out of. Do you understand? I need you to promise me that you'll make sure I can't hurt anyone. Promise me you won't ever let me take a life again. Por favor. Prométeme."