ALASTOR NYX:

Despite the sudden heat–such an infernal heat it was–he couldn't register it at all over the cold, suffocating presence that was the god of death now making itself known from her blade, washing over him, sucking him in like a black hole.
“…Was it that bad that you wanted to kill me?” Alastor finally dared to ask, distantly surprised that his voice came out calm at the possible face of death.
“I told you to let me go,” his mate answered instead, her voice clipped with restrained anger, eyes of black illuminated so prettily against the flames.
“Then how about you let me go, sweetheart?” Alastor pointed out, tilting his head backwards. At the movement, the back of his head landed on one of her arms still wrapped around him. Though her arms were more like a boa rather than a lover’s embrace, effectively keeping him right where he was–not that Alastor was complaining, he rather enjoyed being held by his mate even if it appears she was most likely going to strangle him.
Winters visibly bristled at that.
“Damn you,” she seethed.
Alastor smirked, not bothering to come up with a response while she winced when he simply bared his neck even more, her eyes closing briefly as she lowered her head in what seemed to be like resignation, defeat.
Then, she muttered so quietly, almost to herself–
“Damn it all to hell.”
Before he could open his mouth to say something smart, the goddess suddenly surged forward, tackling him unexpectedly, causing him to propel backwards and landing hard on his back with his mate right on top of him, her knees digging painfully into his arms, her sword pressed right into his neck but still not slicing.
“Oh... oh, wow…” Alastor let out a breathless laugh when he finally processed what just happened, even dropping his head comfortably on the wet ground as he grinned up at her furious eyes, “I really, really like you!”
He had dreamed of a scenario happening like this, after all... wait, no, Alastor most certainly did not dreamed of his own mate having a sword right at his throat–unless she was into knife play, he wouldn’t mind–but you get the picture. But gods help him, his mate just looked so beautiful on top of him like this.
Winters looked like an avenging angel rising from the depths of hell with her sword seeming to glow eerily amidst the bright flames behind her as she seemed to prepare herself to end him.
So, so beautiful...
Alastor smiled, staring up at her adoringly, patiently waiting for her to actually strike him down. He waited.
...and waited.
When his mate did not dared to move for another second, only staring him down with those enchanting gaze of her's, looking like she was searching something within his eyes. Was she looking for fear? Regret? No, there was nothing; he will gladly do this all over and over again–the fury in her eyes slowly subsiding, her grip on her blade faltering when he did nothing.
Alastor chuckled at her obvious reluctance, a hand landing gently on her hip, causing her to stiffen at his touch but to his delight, she did not bothered to make a move to push it off of her.
The crackling of fire and the drizzling rain were the only noises as the two of them came upon at a stalemate while Winters gritted her teeth indecisively, a flash of frustration rippling across her pale face, the blade beginning to shake (or was it her hand?) the longer this–whatever this is–went on between them.
“You won't do it, Winters…” Alastor finally said; his voice certain, the words sounding almost like a solemn vow under the bleak sky, “...I know you won't”
“Why?”
“Because you can't,”
At that, Winters narrowed her eyes, like she was steeling herself, “For someone at my mercy, you sound so awfully sure of yourself.”
His lips curled into an amused grin.
“At your mercy?”
She pressed the blade harder to his skin as if to prove her point but he hardly blinked, even tilting his head to the side at her, almost invitingly. Alastor even let out an airy chuckle, careless and bright, as though she just said a funny joke… one that held no place in his current predicament.
“You are fortunate I am not as ruthless as the other gods,” Winters hissed, “…they would have ended you for such impudence.”
“Ah yes,” Alastor laughed brightly, ignoring the blood still dripping thickly from his wounds, “...lucky me indeed! I bet the merciful goddess Proserpina doesn't hesitate when it comes to landing a killing blow.”
Her eye twitched.
He raised an eyebrow, “Oh? But I'm right, aren't I?”
“...You are insufferable,” Winters finally declared, stabbing the sword… on the ground dangerously right next to his neck, just a shy away from actually grazing his collarbone.
The moment Winters let out an exhale, her grip on her sword relaxing as she leaned away from him, looking as though she was about to get up–Alastor suddenly surged forward like a rising tsunami, tossing the goddess flat on her back, covering her body with his before she could even move to stand up.
Their position reversed just as quickly it had happened and Winters landed with a startled gasp to the ground, her free hand blindly searching for her sword, panic beginning to show in her eyes when she saw that it had landed far from her reach. Her hand clenched and unclenched at nothing but thin air, her eyes growing wide as they frantically met his triumphant gaze.
Alastor grinned, “That's because I know this feels right between us.”
With that, he leaned down and crashed his lips against her's.
At the same time, thunder roared and lightning struck above them once more, illuminating the dark skies for a moment with what seemed to look like claws–but the werewolf didn't noticed, he didn't even bother to care, more so when he felt one of her gloved hands slowly creeping up on his nape as she began to feebly yanked him closer, closer and closer to her until there was no space between them, the other hovering all over his face in a ghostly touch, almost hesitating.
When he parted her lips with a gasp, Alastor gently stroked her mouth with his tongue while Winters suddenly remained still as a doll in his grasp, as though realizing that she had reciprocated almost instantly, her trembling hold on him the only proof that she was actually real, was still there as she numbly took in his attentions.
After a while, Alastor slowly moved away from her, one hand brushing against her cheek until he coaxed her eyes to open.
It wasn't a trick of a light.
He wasn't imagining it.
Here, up close, Alastor can see her obsidian gaze, alight with something like guilt and something that most certainly want as she panted against him, looking just as out of breath as he was.
“...gods of Olympus, I knew it,” Alastor whispered, not bothering to hide the relief, the sheer joy from seeping in his voice as he cradled her face, resting his forehead against her’s, “You wanted me too.”
She blinked at that, her long eyelashes fanning so beautifully like a butterfly's wings, looking like she was processing his words… until she suddenly grabbed his face with one hand, fingers digging harshly into his cheeks that he actually gaped when she slammed her lips insistently right after against his without a word.
When she began to kiss him back this time, Alastor groaned against the goddess, squeezing her tighter. He held the other hand still hovering over his face–which she squeezed in response.
Stop talking.
He gleefully obeyed the voiceless command ringing in his mind and delved with his tongue, tasting Winters, drinking her in again and again.
Finally, finally–
Alastor was so tempted to mark his mate right there and then but refrained himself at the last second. He didn’t want to do that in a place like this anyways (that has to be special), because here, in this moment… he’s going to savor it.
This is enough; this is more than enough... for now because I'm bringing home this woman, my goddess on this night–into my bed, into my life.
With each shy lap of her tongue against his own– that somehow told him that she had allowed him to take the lead despite being the one to instigate the second kiss since she had never done this with anyone before–he let out another pleased groan at the thought.
It was worth it.
If she was the person waiting at the end of his path, if it all leads right back down to her, Alastor knew everything he had been through and anything else was going to be so worth it.
Both were so lost with one another that they did not notice the brown earth slowly darkening around them, the green grass wilting beneath the heir of the underworld's body as the fire slowly died down from the rain.

. . .
“We are free to choose our paths, but we can’t choose the consequences that come with them.”
–Sean Covey
. . .

Alastor's hand had been wandering to the last unopened button of her coat just as he felt rather than heard her breath hitching against his lips, oblivious to the fact that her eyes were snapping open in steadily growing panic, more so when she felt him actually trying to wrench the coat off of her none too gently.
“NO!” Winters shoved against his chest.
“Wha–?”
“Stop! Don’t you dare!”
“Winters, what the f–?!” caught off guard, Alastor nearly bumped his head directly against her's, a look of shock on his face as he clumsily planted his hands on the ground to keep himself from crushing her with his weight.
But Winters continued squirming violently underneath him like an animal caught in a trap, “Let me go right this instant!”
Perplexed, Alastor’s first instinct was to try to calm his mate down, reaching out to touch her face to comfort her but she suddenly recoiled away from his hand, slamming her head against the hard ground with a thunderous thud in the process.
“Oh shit, are you alright?!” Alastor gaped, hands automatically holding the back of her head to cradle it despite her thrashing.
And that was when he noticed the darkening ground for the first time underneath her, “Wait a minute–…what?” his eyes darted around them in disbelief. Most of the soil had weathered and died, “What the hell is going on? Winters, please calm the fuck down!”
“GET OFF OF ME!”
Bewildered, he shakily obeyed.
He can only watch in stunned silence as Winters quickly scrambled away from him as soon as he did. Her dark eyes were wide and terrified as she backed away from him, her legs visibly trembling like a newborn fawn.
Even her lips were shaking.
“I-I don't... I don't want this... I didn't want it.”
And Alastor swore he had heard nothing but pure static right after that, his ears ringing so badly as soon those horrible words left her lips and while there was a huge possibility that she may not be aware of his kind’s customs, she might as well have beheaded him on the spot there and then and it would have been less painful, would have been far more preferable because she just… her words… they may as well have been regarded as a rejection to her mate.
I should have fucking marked her when I had the chance but just as those thoughts formed, Alastor shook his head angrily, not wanting to do something so drastic, the ringing fading in and out as he took in a deep calm breath once, twice, thrice, not wanting to snap and scream. He had been at fault too after all; he had all but forced himself to her but–
“If you didn't want me then why the fucking hell did you kissed me back?!” Alastor demanded, hating the way he sounded desperate, even to himself.
Winters immediately flushed a lovely bright red at the reminder but otherwise said nothing, trying to button her coat properly with clumsy fingers, eyes still deliberately not meeting his. Somewhere around her fumbling, her gaze landed on her discarded sword, she quickly opened her hand–it was still shaking, damn just how much did he rattled her?–and hurriedly clenched it into a fist while the sword was slowly submerged into a pool of shadows and too-many ghostly hands that made the tiny hairs on the back of Alastor’s neck stand.
Once she'd collected her weapon, both of their gazes fell on the ribbon he had managed to rip free from her hair during their… tryst.
It remained in the middle, almost mockingly.
Like a fucking gauntlet.
Winters took a step forward but he roughly snatched it away from her outstretched hand, stuffing it in his pocket, his eyes on her's all the while, challenging her with his eyes alone to actually try to do something about it.
She blinked in confusion at his sudden action, slowly backing away like a cornered animal, the green grass beneath her instantly wilting with every step she took, as though her fear was sucking away all the life out of them–and while Alastor was no plant lover, he did not like what he was seeing, not one bit.
Was his mate not a goddess?
She’s a goddess of another realm, the heir to the underworld, for gods’ sakes... so why the hell was she so afraid of him?!
“Don't you dare run away from me again, Winters Veil,” he warned her through gritted teeth, voice barely above a frustrated growl, “You seriously think I will not follow?”
“You don't understand!”
Damn it! The fearful, doe-eyed look she had on her face seriously made it kind of hard to stay angry, “Then at least make me understand! Please talk to me… is it because of what I am?” he swallowed the sudden lump forming at his throat, “That I'm a werewolf? Is that what this is?!”
“It's not that…” Winters muttered, almost to herself, her voice softer and sounding so small and so afraid.
Alastor blinked at the sudden blur around his eyes, “If it's about what happened, then… then I'm sorry okay? Please Winters, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and I seriously didn’t mean to make you upset more than you already are, but the truth is… I…”
“What?”
There it is again.
That horrified stare.
Alastor let out a shaky breath, then another, his heart stuttering madly, ready or not, here it comes– “...Winters, I'm your–”
Winters shook her head suddenly, shadows rising and writhing around her calves now in dense waves as though they were water intending to drag her within their depths, “Enough. It doesn't matter. You already have your fun, so please leave me alone!”
“Not a chance in hell!”
Alastor almost wanted to cry there and then because he... he almost told her the truth and he did not know if he should be disappointed that he hadn't managed to actually to get it out of his chest or be relieved.
Looking over at his mate’s hostile demeanor once more, Alastor thought he should count himself lucky that he hadn't gotten the chance to say the truth in the end.
But excuse him, what the actual fuck was happening?