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The wolf watched the rabbit silently from a good ways across the bookstore they both liked, its dark, wispy and wavering body hidden away in the corner, blending in with the other shadows. Its green eyes gleamed bright as they stared intently at the rabbit sitting on the bench, as their pale paws flipped through the pages of their book, shifting restlessly, but unaware of their observer. It had been a week since the two last spoke, the wolf having gone quiet and ignoring the rabbits attempts to reach out. Even now the wolf couldn't muster the nerve to approach them, but could no longer fully stay away anymore either. Even now, they felt a pull drawing them towards the red-cloaked lapin, a pull they wished could be called innocent camaraderie or even soft, loving affection of a partner, but they knew full well it was anything but, not fully at least.
The wolf slowly sniffed the air and then curled inward, feeling that unnerving, terrifying, enticing sensation pulse through them stronger, hunger. The want to bite, to sink its teeth into the meat of the soft flesh of their throat. Not like some vampire bat, for even simply sipping blood was too tame to describe what it wanted to do to them. Desire. The want to have them, possess the rabbit for themselves. Their scent intoxicated the umbral cryptid.
They thought back to what they’d once read about bite being another form of touch. But while that was all well and good for others, where did desire end and violent hunger begin, when they were something like they are? They wanted to hold the rabbit’s soft body close and tender, true. Keep them safe and warm with velvet soft touch. But the eldritch being also wanted to piece their claws into the seams of their heart, rip the sutures open, and thirstily drink from the rivers that spill out, dark and deep.
The pale white rabbit was beautiful and wonderful and delicious. The wild carnivore almost wished they weren’t, were less appealing; maybe then they wouldn’t have to fear the way they sometimes felt around the feisty lagomorph.
The wolf reminisced back on other times they had spent together. How the wolf had sometimes shook with want, and how the rabbit had giggled at seeing the wolf flustered by their touch, their smile. But sweet as those moments were, they couldn’t help their thoughts drifting to others matters.
For while dark creature they may be, the lagomorph had a few secrets of their own, secrets that despite being hidden from others, the wolf was well aware of. They had seen that secret, wild side of the rabbit before, standing over a victim of their own, lungs rapidly breathing in and out, sapphire eyes holding a dark gaze, pale paws and face stained with blood. And worse still, the cryptid folded over in shame at how seeing that side of them only makes them want to carve the rabbit open and drink the dark guilt of them dry, until they were empty.
But they couldn’t. They wouldn’t be able to live with themselves if they actually gave in. If they hurt the rabbit again and became the reason they were destroyed. Not dead, perhaps, but as lifeless as if they were. They remembered the time they nearly did once, a time these feelings slipped past their usual tight restraint, leading to an incident that had led them to distance themselves for a long time in its own right. They had slipped up and bit the lapin, on a long, tough day when the tensions and hunger were too much, sunk their teeth in. And worse still, what had the rabbit done after they had pulled back? Rather than get angry or scared like the canine deserved, instead the rabbit apologized too. They said they shouldn’t have pushed the wolf when the wolf had told the rabbit they needed space, said they learned they needed to believe the wolf about their boundaries and not push just to comfort them. The carnivore could only laugh bitterly.
Aren’t they clearly the one more at fault for giving in? Shouldn’t that be obvious? They know the rabbit felt the sting. They saw the dull numbness in their gaze afterwards, how it took time to return to their normal self. And yet when they finally met up again, the rabbit had laughed it off, saying they’d recovered and they’d both learned better for the future so it’d be fine. They’d still seemed eager to make up for lost time, in a way that left the canine utterly confounded. How could the rabbit still trust them like that? Why did they still let the wolf hold them close? And melt into their touch, so soft and vulnerable.
The wolf sighed. They could almost see the indignant expression that would fill their snowy face if the rabbit heard the wolf talk about them like that, ears turned back and paws at their hips. Yes, yes, they were no fool. They knew that, herbivore though the other may be, they’re not harmless either. But isn’t that exactly the point? It wouldn’t be so tempting to the dark being if they were, and the other’s capacity for shedding blood didn’t make them any less vulnerable to a monster’s teeth.
The shadowy wolf exhaled again in resignation, slumping to the floor and covering their face. They were both messes, yes, and perhaps the wolf liked it that way. But still, they had to wish their particular flavor of disaster didn’t have such a heavy risk towards the other. For it was exhausting to hold back sometimes. But it would be a thousand times worse if they didn’t.