And The Hits Keep Coming

Cordova 
#1
Shortly after, the same evening as this thread.


 After they'd each said their piece, Nolan had felt it most wise to exit the house and take a break to unwind. He stepped out of the apartment and took off, on foot, for a long walk around the neighbourhood. Everything about it was foreign. The houses and street names and people. This wasn't his home. San Fransisco was the closest to that which he had, and even it left a sour taste in his mouth. Sometimes he wondered why he didn't just suck it up and stay. Sometimes he knew he needed something better.

 After he felt he was calm, calm enough to be in a room with Satan and a human, the male cheetah returned. He took the stairs a few at a time to get to the unit where lived the two Novak sisters. By the time he got into the hallway, he could smell Yana intensely. She had passed by here moments ago, it seemed. He looked in the direction he assumed she'd taken, the elevator route, then to the door. Maybe she needed some air too. He shrugged and continued forth, finding the door unlocked and helped himself in.

 He heard sounds coming from the bedroom. He paused and let his senses feel out the apartment but it certainly wasn't Yana. Which meant it was Delia. He moved closer, curious, to hear what was happening. Was she crying?
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#2
Yana had weaned Cordelia on harsh realities and sharp corrections. Her words were hardly ever kind, and when they were they were said with an apparent effort. Despite her weaknesses, Delia was used to this kind of subtle abuse. The words scathed, but so long as Yana was in her life she had an anchor to hold on to, even if she consistently dragged her below the waves.

This mistake she’d made had put that in jeopardy. She’d broken her sister’s trust, however well intentioned Delia may have been. Inconsolable, the thin waif of a woman had wept on her sister’s floor until she’d wrung herself dry. Hiccuping, trembling, she rose, unsure of how much time had passed. Exhausted and hollow, she sniffed and made her way to her sister’s bedroom once more.

Taking the throw blanket from her bed, she turned on her heel, not wanting to invade Yana’s space any more than she already had. Wrapping the blanket around her, Cordelia closed her eyes. It smelled like her. God, what a mess she’d made. Despite the numerous actions that had exacerbated the situation and that were not her own, the younger sibling blamed herself for the whole ordeal. If she hadn’t gone to Nolan this never would have happened. If she hadn’t come here in the first place Yana’s life would have remained pristine.

It was enough to send her reeling again, and she choked back a sob as she stepped into the living room, nearly running into the figure standing in the hall. Sucking in a breath, she looked up. “N-n-nolan.”
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#3
 He was looking dead at her when she came into the room, into sight. She looked shrunken, even by Delia standards. She looked forlorn and lost. Nolan could only imagine what had been said in his absence. She looked shocked to see him, though his presence couldn't have been so surprising as he'd brought his duffel bag and set up in the room with the futon. He'd chucked the stuff in and left, so he hadn't actually set up yet, but that was his present intention.

 "Delia..." he started slowly. He didn't approach. She seemed so much the deer in headlights that he didn't know what to do. He didn't feel predatory towards her if only perhaps because he'd gotten used to her over the years, and further he spent all those energies on her sister. "You doing okay?" He asked her, moving towards the living room, a more neutral perhaps safer place. Earlier, his emotions had played with him and he'd moved to the edge of control. Now, he was firmly himself again, but she in exchange seemed off kilter.
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#4
It was kind of him to ask. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she shook her head. Hair fell into her face in sticky, wet strands, clinging to the tear-tracks on her cheeks. How could she be okay? Her sister, the person she loved most in this world, hated her.

Delia watched him move to the living room and out of habit she followed, like a fledgling waddling after a duck. A shaky breath was exhaled, so weak it wouldn’t have extinguished a candle flame. “I-I-I never s-sh-should have have c-come here. I-It was a m-m-mistake. S-s-she’s so angry with m-m-m-me.” The tears threatened to fall again.

W-what if she d-doesn’t f-f-forgive me?”
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#5
 "I probably didn't help that very much," he mused. It was truth, and an effort to try to soothe her. He watched her face, watched her trying to keep herself together, and felt that mixture of irritation and sadness for her. Nolan had no doubt triggered the situation, but he was irritated that she was so easily manipulated by her sister.

 "She will. She is just surprised, that's all." He tried to reason. Nolan knew the situation was anything but reasonable anyways.

 "I'm getting a drink. Want one?" He moved to the kitchen to see what was in stock, so he didn't have to go grab from what he had in his Jeep. He'd bought some liquor to keep his company during his travels. Cops be damned, drinking and driving wasn't a thing for Weres.
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#6
No. He hadn’t. Cordelia wanted to spit it out, but she swallowed the anger she held towards him. It was her fault he’d come in the first place. It didn’t matter what was said or what had happened between them. She was to blame for it all.

She will. She is just surprised, that’s all.

Sometimes Nolan said things that made Cordelia wonder if he knew his sister at all. Surely, after eight years he should know that Yana didn’t get surprised. She was a step ahead at every turn. Undoubtedly, she’d planned for this, someway, somehow she’d predicted this monumental fuck up and prepared herself for the inevitable fallout.

She wasn’t surprised. She was furious.

U-um. Sure.” Cordelia hardly ever drank. A glass of wine here and there with Yana, but other than that she’d had no compulsion to develop more than a passing relationship with alcohol. “I-I’ll have w-whatever y-you’re having.” She said, wanting to make it easy.
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#7
 He found some wine and thought that was a good start. He rummaged for glasses and then filled the both of them quite full, much more than what you would get at the store. If Delia didn't finish hers, he would just help himself. He wouldn't get drunk, at least not without drinking it all very quickly and in larger quantities, but at least it would supposedly take the edge off. He corked the bottle and returned to the living room and passed over the glass to Delia. No thought had been put to whether or not she liked wine, or alcohol at all. At the moment, Nolan wasn't exactly thinking straight.

 A low hum of energy was still running through him, almost as though he'd discharge a shock if anyone touched him. It was his beast, and his own emotions, mixing and mingling. At least Delia would not sense the truth of it, being a human, but it was likely that she would sense that he was on edge. "Here, label said it was a california wine." He said, mostly just to fill the silence until he went to sit. He sipped at the glass a hearty gulp before hissing it down. He clenched and unclenched his free fist for a moment before then reaching for the remote of the television. Background noise, if nothing else.

 "So. Have you, uh, found a job in the area? Made some friends?" He had always found small talk with her to be a hint of awkward, though he didn't know why. She was pleasant, demure, not daft even if she did have a bad stutter.
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#8
Delia winced as he unceremoniously popped the cork off a bottle of wine. It was a bottle that neither of them had bought. None of this belonged to them. They were sitting on furniture that wasn’t theirs, drinking wine that wasn’t theirs, invading Yana’s life so thoroughly that she thought she was going to be sick.

Then she remembered what she’d said and Delia tipped the glass back, gulping the burgundy liquid down.

His question was a sweet one, quietly probing, trying to assess just how bad the situation was. Cordelia glanced at him, her eyes still puffy from all the crying she’d done, and shook her head. “N-no. N-n-not yet. I….I was n-never v-v-very good a-at making f-f-friends.”
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#9
 Nolan had had an inkling that might be the case and still he'd asked and held out some hope. With the confirmation, though, he wondered at what to speak of next. He took a moment to deliberate by heartily enjoying the wine and glancing around the room.

 "I don't understand that though. You're a heck of a lot nicer than your sister. People should want to be friends with you. What about hobbies?" He preferred to keep the conversation about her, although Nolan was still considerably irritated.

 "You should go to a bar sometime. Relax. Let loose. Have some fun." He arched a brown brow at her and took more of his wine to drink. He checked her drink to see if she was ready for a refill yet. At least the alcohol would replace the tears, he knew.
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#10
What?” The question came out clear and light, breathy with disbelief. Cordelia blinked at him, trying to find some sort of malintent -- a joke she was missing. “Do you really mean that?” Nervousness prickled at the back of her neck, but it was a different kind of worry now, a fear that she might be enjoying herself in his company.

I, um, r-read. And….” She wrinkled her nose at her other passion. No one seemed to take it the right way when she admitted what else she liked to do. “A bar?” He actually managed to make her laugh. “I-I can’t s-see myself in a b-bar.”
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#11
 Nolan offered a gruff laugh. Was he serious? Yes. Even when he was still with Yana he could have admitted that Delia was the kinder soul. Yana was intense, to the point, critical, passionate, but she wasn't in particular "nice". "Yeah, I do. You should give yourself more credit," Since he knew she didn't usually do that, though he also doubted his saying so would affect a thing.

 "And?" he asked, interested and curious, ready to be amused. It seemed perhaps she was embarassed, certainly hesitant, to admit what she enjoyed. Whatever it was, he thought he probably already knew, simply by virtue of having her as part of his life at least peripherally for the last short forever. However, if there was something she was hiding, he was ready to be surprised. Or perhaps not. He'd not known Delia to go off in any random directions.

 She laughed. It sounded nice. He didn't often hear it, he realized. He drank some more wine while he mulled that over. A shame she wasn't laughing more. "Why not? Don't try to tell me you aren't twenty-one miss, because I have seen your license." He kid. To hell with it. He wanted to enjoy, not to think about the looming dark ass cloud that was Yana and her bullshit. Bullshit he'd willingly tortured himself with. He wanted to have fun and if it was to be with Delia then good. She deserved a good time, too.
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#12
A blush crept into her cheeks. It was rare indeed for her to be cast in a favorable light -- particularly against her sister. Somehow, coming from him, the words were sweeter still. Delia lifted her glass to her lips. Unsure of what to say or how to thank him, she sipped at her wine instead.

Naturally, Nolan’s curiosity was hardly satisfied by her trailing answer. Her blush deepened, though the cause of it changed. “U-um. Taxidermy.” It was a private interest, something she kept behind closed doors, only working on things when she was alone. She liked the stillness of it, the total control. She liked putting things back together again.

Swallowing, Delia was grateful when the subject changed. With nearly all of her first glass gone, a soft weightlessness buzzed through her and her head felt like. She giggled. “No. I….I’m n-not the best a-at small talk.” She looked up at him then. “B-but I like t-talking to you.”
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#13
 When she admitted her hobby, at his prompting, Nolan tried his best not to blink at her. It resulted in his staring at her with a slight incredulous look, before he covered it with a helping of his wine. "That's... stuffing dead animals and butterflies and such?" A hint of a smile twitch onto his face from amusement, and he stood up to head for refills, both his and hers. He brought the bottle from the kitchen to do the refills at the couch, expertly pouring without wasting a drop.

 "What? There's nothing to it. The guy comes up to you and says "hey beautiful, can I buy you a drink?" And you say "yeah sure, you want to dance?" and then you go to the dance floor. You dance a bit and if you think he dances nice or you need another drink you go back to the bar. "You come here often?" and he says "just tonight so I could meet you" and you laugh and he gets you another drink. Then you don't care what you say anymore because you're drunk." He arched a brow at her to see if she approved of the plan.
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#14
She nodded in lieu of any verbal confirmation, still somewhat ashamed about her fascination with the grotesque. Her eyes followed him when he meandered back to the kitchen, returning with another bottle in his hand. The lightness in her head made smiling easier and she couldn’t help the upward turn of her lips when he sat down next to her on the couch, handing her glass back to her, full once more.

Delia giggled as Nolan set the scene -- an impossible scenario, to be sure, but she humored him anyway and listened. “As if anyone would c-call me b-beautiful.” Shaking her head, she took another long sip, eyes half-lidded as she cast her gaze back over to him. “W-what happens next?”
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#15
 Nolan smirked a bit as she smiled, then nudged the bottle over for her to help herself to a refill. "Sure they would. Wear a nice little dress or a form fitting skirt, they would be all over you," he assured. Nolan looked her over somewhat, as though seeing her for the first time. Despite her choice of style, and her lack of confidence, she was still a woman, with a womanly figure. A bit of make up, done up hair, nice dress, she'd be as lovely as any of the other girls, surely.

 "Next? You mean once someone gets you drunk at a bar? Then you flirt and play with your hair and feel his muscles and then you dance. And if you want him to take you home then you tell him that." He wondered about that for a moment. He didn't think that she'd ever taken someone home before, at least not like this. And maybe she didn't want to. Maybe she preferred a prince charming. "And if he gets too handsy and you don't like it, you call me and I'll come beat him up for you." He wasn't entirely joking, either.
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#16
Her blush deepened until she began to feel hot under his gaze. The nature of his stare changed, from platonic to predatory as he began to describe what she could wear that would entice. Would that work on him? Was he saying so because it would or was he simply being a more intimate version of kind?

A warmth spread within her, catalyzed by the fact that her glass was once again empty. He was close. Close enough to touch.

So she did.

Reaching forward, nimble fingertips ghosted over the skin of his forearm. “How could you do that? Y-you’re leaving in the morning…if I needed you...wanted you...would you r-really come?” Would he stay?
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#17
 He noticed when she touched him, how could he not? He was very warm, warm in the same way Yana was, and her touch in comparison was cool. He didn't look down, although he wanted to. It occured to him that they were quite cozy, and getting on well. They didn't usually get drunk together, but who ever planned out their drunk shenanigans? He took a moment to digest, swirling his wine about in its glass.

 "I don't know, I was planning on moving on in a few days, and tonight was more just a rest in my travels... handling business... but if you called me I would answer." He told her, meaningfully. Nolan might not be near, but if he ever fielded a call where she said she was in trouble, he'd drive or fly there on a snap to beat whomever it was to a pulp.

 "When I go again, if you don't like it here, you could come with me." It wasn't what he'd planned for, but he could use some company, and she was much easier to get along with than Yana was. Besides, right then, he felt connected to her in a way he hadn't before. Idly he wondered when the next moon was. He refilled his drink.
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#18
Hours passed and they continued to talk, continued to drink. Nolan was far ahead, but Delia soon realized that she’d managed to finish an entire bottle by herself. A dizzy warmth encompassed her limbs, seeping through her whole body, and she felt herself finally relax. The conversation with him was easy. He didn’t judge her, didn’t look down at her with a hardened stare. Whether he felt the same was debatable, but Delia truly considered him a friend, someone she’d admired for years.

When sitting upright became too much effort, they sunk back on the couch together, Delia nestling up against him, blissful in the feeling of having him so close. Glancing up at him, she felt the skin of her cheeks heat once more. “I’ve always thought of this….what it would f-feel like. Being with you.”
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#19
 Drinks and drinks later and he was finally feeling light headed. His control was loosened on his beast which made him more blunt, but he still felt he was no threat. Perhaps that was the alcohol talking, but he'd never been drunk long enough for it to matter. Nolan had his arm loosely resting across her shoulders no leave her the crook of his armpit and his chest to keep her steady and warm - especially warm.

 From here, he could smell her shampoo all the more potently, and he felt a longing for the comfort he was experiencing. Sure, he'd fucked a long list of women since Yana had left but had never just spent time with any of them. Dating was certainly never an option. And while he hadn't ever thought of dating Delia, a certain other possibility was making itself known in his head, and perhaps lower still.

 He heard her speak, almost more of a murmur. Her face was so close. She was just as warm as he was, it felt. Nolan almost forgot she normally stuttered for she spoke almost without any now. He was at first surprised to hear what she'd said, but then a smug contentedness smoothed through. "Oh yeah? Is it as you hoped?" He wondered, more to stroke his ego, but also because what man didn't like to hear those words from a woman's lips?

 "Is this all you had thought about doing with me?" He inquired, devilishly, as he moved his other arm to snake onto her stomach and give her a little pull in towards him, holding her close.
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#20
It was a subtle shift. They saw the boundary line drawn out on the ground before them. They stepped closer, inching towards it with every lingering gaze and tender brush of skin. In the end, be it the wine or the pain, it was Delia led them across that invisible barrier and into the abyss, answering his question with action instead of words.

Gasping lightly when he pulled her closer, eyes half-lidded, she closed the minimal distance between them. He tasted different than she imagined he would. Tugging him closer, she coaxed him on top of her until they were horizontal on the couch, her movements growing in fervor as the contact set her body alight.

Possessed by a greedy, hungry fire, Delia’s hands moved down his sides, catching the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. She wanted this. She wanted all of him. They were the beings Yana had discarded, finding solace in each other’s arms.
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#21
In the weeks following the exodus to Cordova, she had made the effort to make one thing abundantly clear every step of the way: the apartment was hers. The contents of the apartment, were hers – the food in the refrigerator, hers. At every turn and in every conversation with Isolde, Nolan, and Cordelia alike she made sure to emphasize that ownership. Avoiding soft words such as The apartment, especially peace-loving drivel such as our apartment.

Nevertheless, sometimes it made more sense to leave than to stick around and fight a battle in which she was outnumbered. Tonight had been one such event, leaving her home until the late hours of the night for a chance to clear her head, the opportunity to chase after something she missed – some god damn independence.

Having changed before she had set out for the night, she sighed heavily as she opened the door and crossed the hall in three strides. Setting down her keys as she glanced up into the living room proper, a brow raised as she froze where she stood. The sight was enough to leave a hairline crack in her usual composure, fingers slowly curling into fists at her side as she stayed silent for a split second.

Her apartment. Her couch. Her sister,

Things she bought and earned in equal measure now occupied and used at the leisure of someone else. Much less him, although perhaps there as a degree of ownership where he was concerned. As if the years had equated to payments, slowly purchasing more and more of his being – occupying more and more for his mental space. Trying to rationalize the idea of so much that was hers tangled together in front of her, a mess she did not condone – and in her apartment, on her couch.

There were no tears of course, only a slowly building and smoldering fire as she crossed the room and moved to grab the man looming over her sister. Eyes flashing gold and an almost inhuman snarl ripping through her throat as she wordlessly moved to dig her nails into his shoulders and yank him back and (hopefully) onto the floor with as much force as she could muster. Little consideration in the moment for subtlety in the presence of her very much human sibling. Proving in her own way perhaps, that even she had a breaking point to her tolerance.
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#22
 It seemed, from that point, that it didn't take much for either of them. Being touched felt good, not only because she was soft and feminine and warm, but for the beast in him too. He enjoyed being touched, and touched everywhere. He took his pleasure in kisses upon her skin, tasting the sweat there, and was scent was uniquely hers even if it was familiar. Somewhere among the clothing being tugged off and the hands roaming one another, he vaguely recalled this was his ex's sister. Well. They were exes now anyways, weren't they? Sucks to be her. If she found out, and probably she would, then let it burn her inside out.

 He wasn't going to let that possibility spoil his good time, however. He was enjoying himself too much. He moved with a hunger that she had never seen from him although from the looks of it had been interested in. He could smell her, and it made him all the more prideful and eager to continue to coax her into pleasure he felt certain she didn't know. Not due to her reserved nature, but because he felt he was just that good.

 He had her shirt removed too and was enjoying a nibble at her fair, smooth breasts when he became vaguely aware of something. It wasn't important enough to stop, however. His beast and the man of him were way too focused. And then again a sound, but it was too distant, and their panting was muting it out. And then he felt himself yanked off of her, painfully, and pulled to the floor. He hit the ground hard out of surprise, and gold of his beast swam easily into his eyes. He metaphysically hissed while he rearranged himself to roll onto his feet and off of the floor.

 All that Nolan could think, at that point, was that he was either going to fuck or fight, right here, right now. He didn't really care which. He wasn't in particular thinking of being subtle, either. "Get in or get out." He barked, a hint of the beast below the surface rising into his tone of voice. She could join them, or she could leave. Either way, she wasn't going to fuck this up too. He'd passed his threshold for that shit long ago, helped with alcohol and the promise of hormonal release.
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#23
Since his untimely arrival in Cordova, there had been a surprising number of instances in which Nolan Lehner had showed his complete and total ignorance where it came to her nature. A series of both subtle and bold phrases and actions that suggested that her mental smoke and mirror show had been infinitely more successful than even she had accredited herself prior to his extended stay. In some capacity of another, she realized with a perverse sort of pleasure, he actually thought she gave a shit.

The unseen baring of teeth not even eliciting a flinch as she kept the tension in her body and gripped tightly to the back of the couch now. "Put your fucking clothes on. Go to my bedroom and lock the door, I will come for you soon." A simple command directed at her younger - even as she kept her eyes trained on the man on the floor, reveling in maintaining the literal high ground for the time being.

A sensible part of her realizing a line had been crossed, that they were meandering a dangerous gray area. That, with the threat of gold in both of their eyes and the stuttering mess of a woman in the middle - the morning would see her either as an only surviving child, or as the less-than thrilled guardian of a new Were. The fact that the bumbling idiot on the other side of her couch had forced her hand in this transition, only adding kerosene to the wildfire that was her annoyance.

Regardless, Cordelia was perhaps a stuttering overly emotional wreck, but at the end of the day she was loyal. A dependable figure, a constant presence on her side of any battle waged - both the physical and the mental, the verbal and the emotional. Nolan by comparison was an admittedly unbecoming ink stain on her ledger. A means to an end that had not panned out how intended - a living and breathing reminder that she had once bent the knee to some god damn fisherman with a beard.

And here he stood, all male bluster and repressed aggression, suggesting ... what? That she help him fuck her sister? The thought registering no repulsion, save for it's source in this instance. Her apartment, her sister. The days in which she begrudgingly accepted his words as law had long since seen their end, and while a part of her always knew the time would come - she wasn't expecting it in these circumstances. The need to reiterate once and for all that he wasn't in fucking Kansas any longer, and that eight years was a small lifetime.

With a surprising speed and degree of grace, she vaulted herself over the back of the couch now, mindful to avoid the tangle of her sister's legs as she stepped off the cushions and onto the hard wood once more. Effectively closing the distance between them and moving in one foul swoop to hopefully hook her leg around the back of his knee and bring him down onto the floor once more. "You're such an absolute disappointment. Get out of my apartment. Now."

The potential repercussions and damages of embracing the shift being the only thing that held her in stasis even as she felt the slow dawning takeover beginning to encroach. Even as she registered the difference in her tone and reluctantly admitted to herself that she presently as close to being emotionally compromised as she had been in years.
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#24
 Yana blustered at her sister to get clothed and go wait her sentence in the bedroom - door locked. Distantly, Nolan understood the precaution, but he was a bit too tired of everything, a bit too drunk, a bit too horny, a bit too everything. He growled, a sound that reverberated from his human mouth weirdly as it was more cat than human. "She can be with me if she so damn wants," he stated firmly.

 When Yana moved to try to put him back on the floor, he dodged. He wasn't so inept at fighting as to give up his senses so easily. He met her mid-motion instead, and used his upper body to keep them both upright, grabbing at Yana in an attempt to whirl her around and put her into the nearest wall, opposite of where Delia was positioned. He hadn't come here, to Cordova, to physically fight with Yana, but there they were regardless.

 "You already promised one night. Can't handle the view?" he interrupted himself only a moment to try to keep himself together, to step back briefly. He knew, distantly, that he shouldn't fight, here and now. Not like this. Not when they had a human witness. But that human was moment away from being naked with him, and he wanted some form of release. If his human wasn't going to get it, his cheetah would.
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#25
Things had gone too far, it was set in stone in her mind now. Cordelia would be Were or dead by morning, all because Nolan Lehner wasn't competent enough to know better than to shit where he slept. You already promised one night. His understanding of her hospitality, a bit too liberal for her tastes - more enraged than frightened when her back was pushed up to the wall. Stilling for the time being and setting him with a hard and vacant stare, iris' entirely gold at this point as she registered the faint snap of bone. Enough to make her cringe but not cry out directly - the whole evening had gone to shit, as long as she got to Cordelia before she could leave the apartment, so be it.

Less than surprised when he ignored her demand, a warning in it's own right - reaching up to grab hold of him by the throat. Attempting a measure of force in the hold while she could maintain it, before the shift went past her capability to keep him as such. "Last. Warning. Nolan." Her voice more gruff, a low rumble of a growl - the echo of something not entirely human on the bite of each word. "Get your hands off of me and get the fuck out of my apartment or I'm going to rip your throat out."

It was a second chance, a final warning shot fired off into the air between them. A gesture that she extended to her ex-lover only out of the courtesy of what he had provided in the past. Not in the sense of memories, or the physical. In no regard referring to the material or the feelings that seemed to still abound for him. No, her respect and gratitude began and ended were the Were infection was concerned - the only good thing to come from San Francisco, it seemed.

Every second that the warning went ignored was a gross misstep as far as she was concerned. Every snap of bone and shift of muscle a tick that drove her closer and closer to the taste of blood. Her ribs snapped and the bones along her spine began to accommodate the beast, Soon she would be incapable of holding herself up at his height, a few moments in which she would be incapable of the assault she warned him was imminent. And while the sharp structure of her face began to fragment into a mask that was somewhere between woman and monster, she waited no longer.

Kill.

The beast was infinitely less patient or collected than the woman who harbored it, the cheetah was a different sort of monster. Lurching, she hissed through the pain and the struggle of pressing forth and locked onto the side of his neck. He screamed and tried to grab her by the hair. She locked her jaw, gritting through the warm gush of copper, through her shift even as her teeth lengthened and strengthened her hold on the tender flesh. Steeling herself when he hit and punched at her, when he tried to slam her back against the wall again, as if to stun her into complacency - as if they weren't past that point.

The growl was inhuman as he started his own shift too late, too far behind to catch up and make it a true fight. With her own transition all but complete, the beast held up by it's front paws, clawing at his shoulders - she sealed his fate. Jerking her head right and then left before tearing back with his throat still tight in her maw. The spurt of blood spraying an abstract pattern on the wall behind them in a way that mimicked the minimalist art that decorated the space.

He gurgled, she chewed.

When he went limp, the weight of the beast pushed him backwards in a fashion that was akin to a rag doll. Sprawled out on yet another ruined carpet, the animal that was once Yana Novik now in clear view. A lithe yet fearsome in size cheetah - it's mouth, jaw, and the underside of it's neck stained red. The blood marking even more of the beast as she went in for a second mouthful as he bled freely on the floor, stilled and well on his way to growing cold.

The cheetah registered nothing until his desperate grabs for air and twitching subsided. Then and only then, gold eyes lifted to the sobbing, screaming, wailing, and shivering mess that she registered in passing as human kin.

Kill.
No.


The cat stayed looming over the fresh kill as it watched the other, waiting it seemed with a thunderous rumble of a growl - head lowered and still as a statue. And then, Cordelia Novik, did the foolish thing, she attempted to run.

Hunt her, kill her.
No.


The cat snapped into action regardless, unwilling to let pray go while some feeble semblance of the woman even acknowledge the importance of not letting the younger woman run into the streets of the city wailing about murderous monster cheetah's. Taking after the beast proper, she moved with a speed that was jarring, bounding across the room in a couple of leaps and moving to knock Cordelia to the ground and lock her jaws around the forearm of her sister.
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