He wandered leisurely along the spot where he had chained you, rather plainly. A chair, you in iron chains, it's such a valuable sight that it seems a man could make a lot of money selling it.

His face contorted into a grimace as the silver knife touched your chin, jerking it upward slightly. His eyes read the purest hatred, comparable to his priligy. Dean was holding himself back from chopping your head off right now.

Of course, you were too good at hiding your gut. Your plan to gain the trust of John Winchester's firstborn was a complete success, at least it was Dean's first and only theory as to why a vampire was near him, sleeping in the same bed with him.

You quite had a point, you were in love, and if Dean had found out who you were, he wouldn't have been ceremonious.

It lasted a year, maybe more? Dean was too in love to count the days. And what was his surprise when the one he loved, the one he'd given himself to completely, turned out to be a vampire mutt.

Winchester was rubbing his face now, as if trying to come to his senses, hoping he didn't see your face in front of him. Your goddamn face. The only thing he wanted to do right now was kill the hell out of you.

But a faint glimmer of those feelings languished in him as he leaned toward your face, your noses actually touching. "Care to explain yourself? Or not, I'll make my own guess. You didn't want to and you're sorry?" He stretched out the words, his voice shuddering with an almost hysterical fit of anger.

"Hell no. People like you can't be sorry." He bellowed, squeezing your cheeks. "You have a few minutes before I chop your face off into my trophy chest."