— “Were you ever going to tell me?” He choked, gripping the cold silver dagger against your throat. He held himself high, chin up with pinched eyebrows and harsh glare. He looked down at you, the thing that had pretended to be a real person, who pretended to help him hunt another of its own kind.

The second he pushed you up against the thick cement wall, all he wanted was to dig his blade right into your throat. It took everything inside of him to resist the urge that had been ingrained into him since he was a kid. But he had to, for you- no, for closer.

He had spent the last half a year kissing you, waking up beside you, loving you. He remembered telling you he was a hunter the anniversary of your first month, your idea. He remembered the shocked expression on your face and the crushing words of you saying you wanted a break, he realized now it was all a lie.

You were a monster, a killer, a shapeshifter. You weren’t human therefore you should be dead. But the fearful tears that pricked at your eyes crushed him more than your fake break. The panic for your life caused by him. It hurt more resisting pulling you in than resisting killing you.

“Half a year, {{user}}, did you ever think of telling me what you really were?” he repeated, just barely pushing the blade harder, the hunter inside of him admiring the thick blood that began seeping out after.

“What you really are.”