As Allan awoke, he yawned and jumped out of the sloppy bed. He had to admit that last night was incredible. That gullible pal of his did an admirable job of being submissive. If only she was this way with him.
The doctor told him the other day that the way Althea is acting with him now is how she would have acted if he hadn't been a crazed killer. He imagines that's a bummer for her. He did, however, inform him. He should keep it hidden. He frowned at the thought until he told him that if she knew, like before she lost her memories, she wouldn't fall for him.
Allan was also advised that if she was reminded of enough things, she would remember everything. That could mean he's a murderer or Anthony. He's going to meet up in his rotting corpse the next time he sees those prawns. He only left him alone for Althea's sake, so she wouldn't throw a hissy fit.
Girls are leeching pain in the behind, but this one is doing well so far. All Allan has to do is keep her from remembering anything, and they'll be fine. He gains strength and kills more, while she gains a mate. Fairtrade to him, but he doesn't care. But it was his wolf who did it.
When Allan heard shifting on the bed, he realized his little buddy was waking up. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, completely unaware that she was naked. He raised an eyebrow, which she quickly noticed, covering herself with the blanket as she became agitated.
"Morning, my lovely mate," Allan says as he walks over to the edge of the bed.
"Oh- yeah. Morning!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, taking a moment to process what her mate was saying. She wouldn't be so happy if she wasn't so oblivious, but he prefers it this way. He believes he has more control than he does. She's been paying attention to him like a good girl.
"How was last night?" he inquires, bringing up the naughtiness that occurred. He knew she'd be embarrassed to talk about it, but that was part of the fun.
Althea's face flushed as she stuttered her response, "F-fun, and um yeah," and she covered her head with the duvet. He laughs and removes the duvet from her. She raises her big eyes to him, "And you?" she asks quietly back.
"Let's just say I want to rip this blanket off you and go for another round," he smirked, tugging her hair a little.
He discovered last night that she enjoyed hair-pulling, and she was aware that he was aware. She bit her lower lip, concealing half of her face.
"That's nice," she says, not knowing what else to say. Even after all of this, he still believes she is innocent. He can't hurt her too much, like a butterfly.
He nods, rolling his eyes slightly. "Well, sweetie, I'm going out for a bit," Allan says, turning around, but she stops him before he can leave.
"How come you keep calling me sweetie?" she inquires.
"Because you are the sweetest thing that has happened to my life," Allan said as he kissed her forehead. She nods and looks down at her hands. He grabs his coat and walks out, locking the door behind him. To keep someone in, not to keep people out.
He mulls over what he told her as he walks through the woods.
The true reason he refers to his mate as a sweetie is because of his wolf. His wolf both likes and dislikes the fact that she has amnesia. It's not the same girl he saw in prison, and he refuses to use the word mate. Allan anticipated that she would say something, so he devised that cheesy line to divert her attention.
When he sees the small house he was looking for, he comes to a halt. It was filthy and unsightly. Even the smell of blood lingered around here. "Oh, you'll be reunited with your brother soon," he smirks.
Allan transformed into his wolf after stripping naked. He was a dark grey and black mix with a white tip on his tail. Size and strength, which he now possessed, were more important to her than appearances.
Althea is falling for him, which is almost perfect for my plan.
He then waddles down the hill and sees for the first time the silver chain he wrapped around her. She was insane to flee from him, but she even attempted suicide because he knew she was willing to go the distance. If she dies, he is very likely to die or become frail.
When Allan's wolf knocks on the front door and sees an empty living room, his wolf growls. He dashed through each room, finally arriving at the pot of gold.
Anthony was sound asleep, like the stupid teenager he was. Allan growls at him, snaps awake, and recognizes him with wide eyes. "A-Allan," he stutters desperately. He nods as he approaches his bed, his paws making no sound as they land.
He withdraws into a corner of the room, tears streaming down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he slides down the wall, "I'm sorry for whatever I did! Please, just don't kill me!" he sobs.
He licks his lips as he rolls his eyes. His dead body is the only apology he will accept. His words had no meaning, but the mark on his friend did. The only thing this idiot mutt did correctly returned her to him.
As his eyes bulged out of his head, he noticed him pulling his hair. As he took a step closer to him, all he could think of was pathetic, weak, and simple. All of these people are like puppets. Except for him, all towns are. If only the government knew how many killers he has. They don't, sadly, but if they did, all hell would break loose. He was only inches away from the whimpering Anthony at this point.
Allan does not want this to be over quickly. He wanted him to suffer, to be tortured simply for touching his mate. Allan then clawed his throat, preventing him from screaming. It was beginning to irritate him.
As he delivered his final blow, he could feel his pulse slowing. He collapsed on his side, dead. It wasn't as bloody as he had hoped, but that's okay. He's dead now, and he can dance on his decaying body.