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When her words had failed her, Tholo slowly reached out to turn her. The touch made her flinch reflexively. Since when was that a reflex? Dead or not, adrenaline was racing through her veins… fight or flight, she couldn’t let another man touch her. Not yet. Too soon. He meant no harm though, he simply wiped a tear from her cheek. Damnit, she hadn’t meant to cry in front of the wolf.

[i]Her wolf…[/i]

Bartholomew Whitlock.

[i]“I knew nothing of this”[/i] he assured her [i]”I’m sorry about what happened, I should of been there. I failed in that regard, but he is gone and can’t hurt you anymore. And if he somehow lived, I’ll him myself. He’s no father to me. I’d understand if you want space from being near a wolf, but if you are still willing to try, I’ll show you I’m never going to hurt you.”[/i]

Béatrix felt more naked now than the last time they were together, and that is saying something. But maybe that was what soul mates were for? Who else should you feel comfortable baring yourself to? Completely bare, to the core of your very being. When she spoke again, her voice was low, but steady. 

“No. I do not want to be alone.” Trixy raised her eyes to meet his with rediscovered boldness. She was much too proud a creature to play the victim for long. “Just… don’t touch me again.” the demand stood in stark contrast to their previous encounters where she’d much rather feel his touch then hear his words. The tides were changing and Béatrix strapped her investigator boots back on. She had came here for answers, and she would get some.

Wandering over to the liquor cabinet, Béatrix selected The Glenlivet 15 Year Old French Oak Reserve. The irony was not lost on her there. Uncapping the bottle, she nosed the rich buttery notes before pouring two glasses. She couldn’t give a damn what time of day it was, she needed a drink… or twelve, because, you know, alcohol doesn’t quite work the same when it isn’t tainting human blood. Trixy offered Tholo a glass and sat down with the other.

“Why would he say that… if he isn’t your father?” she asked about the maggot-like words that ate away her thoughts. Her crystalline eyes settled on the blade once more, but she felt no urge to touch it again. Thinking on it, an idea blossomed in her mind. The monster was an alpha… aggressive… centuries old… English. “Bartholomew?" she broke the silence of thought. "Were you born wolf, or turned?” it seemed silly that she didn’t even know exactly what kind of were her soul mate was, but there it was.

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