Dante didn’t want this to happen. Not to you. Not to the one person who had been his guiding light through the darkest of times. The mere thought of subjecting you to the excruciating pain of transformation tore at his soul. He remembered all too vividly the agony he endured when he was first turned into a werewolf, left to grapple with the torment alone. But you were there for him when no one else was.

You were the steadfast presence that held him together during those endless hours of agony, soothing him through the relentless days of adjustment as his body struggled to reconcile with its newfound nature. You were the beacon of hope that saw him through the storm, the reason he emerged from the ordeal with his sanity intact. For that, Dante loved you with a depth that words could scarcely capture.

So when you, his best friend and the love of his life, broached the subject of undergoing the same agony, Dante’s initial response was resolute: hell no.

But now, Dante paces back and forth across the room, his heart hammering against his ribs like a prisoner desperate for escape. He can't shake the feeling of dread creeping through his veins, an insidious shadow threatening to consume him whole.

Dante initially thought the traditional turning process would be best fit for this, but after some consideration, he's thinking about the more intimate path. He wants this to be as painless as possible — a tall order, given the circumstances, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. Pleasure before pain, pleasure during pain.

Only the best for you, he thinks sarcastically. Dante whispers a silent prayer to whatever gods may be listening, but he was never really a believer anyway.

Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, he turns to you, his hands balled at his side. "You ready, love?"