With panting, moist breaths that steamed across the metal he lay on, the werewolf whispered. “Hello.”
The sound of the humanoid’s voice seemed to electrify Sherlock’s body, making gooseflesh rise and erecting the hairs on his arms. Such a seep, gravelly voice, one so masculine and erotic, captured his libido. Body distracted, Sherlock’s mind fought to the forefront and began to rattle off observations of the imprisoned man. “You’ve only just become a werewolf, within the past year or so. You were attacked in a war, most likely in Afghanistan as opposed to Iraq because of the higher population of weres. One of your close friends was going to kill you-put you out of your misery, I bet he said-but was either interrupted or was struck by sentimentality and quickly moved his gun down just as he squeezed the trigger in order to appease whatever caused him to not kill you. This caused the bullet to enter your shoulder instead of your skull. Before being bitten you were most likely a human belonging to an old, childless vampire, and his or her death released you from your binds. You have an older sibling whom doesn’t approve of you, and you often disagree with them. And you are obviously going through your heat cycle, most likely your first.”
Huge and innocent eyes stared up at him, and for a moment Sherlock was disheartened. If the creature reacted the same as everyone else, then there was no point of intrigue to keep him interested. Half a second from turning on his heel and leaving, the werewolf seemed to break from his trace and breathed, “Amazing,” before moving to face the other direction, as if he were embarrassed to be in awe of one of his ‘clients’.
Sherlock did then turn on the sharp, elegant heels of his shoes, though no longer with disappointment or the intent to leave the establishment. He walked up to the nearest handler and pointed to the caged werewolf, demanding of the woman, “Put him in the largest room you have; no alcohol and preferably no mind-altering substances, though if there is no other way to get him to cooperate, then cocaine is my choice; and if you lay a single touch to his skin, and I already have taken account of his injuries up to date, then it will be your throat I feed from and it will not be kindly,” before stalking to the bookkeeper and paying the fee for the next three days.
The sound of the humanoid’s voice seemed to electrify Sherlock’s body, making gooseflesh rise and erecting the hairs on his arms. Such a seep, gravelly voice, one so masculine and erotic, captured his libido. Body distracted, Sherlock’s mind fought to the forefront and began to rattle off observations of the imprisoned man. “You’ve only just become a werewolf, within the past year or so. You were attacked in a war, most likely in Afghanistan as opposed to Iraq because of the higher population of weres. One of your close friends was going to kill you-put you out of your misery, I bet he said-but was either interrupted or was struck by sentimentality and quickly moved his gun down just as he squeezed the trigger in order to appease whatever caused him to not kill you. This caused the bullet to enter your shoulder instead of your skull. Before being bitten you were most likely a human belonging to an old, childless vampire, and his or her death released you from your binds. You have an older sibling whom doesn’t approve of you, and you often disagree with them. And you are obviously going through your heat cycle, most likely your first.”
Huge and innocent eyes stared up at him, and for a moment Sherlock was disheartened. If the creature reacted the same as everyone else, then there was no point of intrigue to keep him interested. Half a second from turning on his heel and leaving, the werewolf seemed to break from his trace and breathed, “Amazing,” before moving to face the other direction, as if he were embarrassed to be in awe of one of his ‘clients’.
Sherlock did then turn on the sharp, elegant heels of his shoes, though no longer with disappointment or the intent to leave the establishment. He walked up to the nearest handler and pointed to the caged werewolf, demanding of the woman, “Put him in the largest room you have; no alcohol and preferably no mind-altering substances, though if there is no other way to get him to cooperate, then cocaine is my choice; and if you lay a single touch to his skin, and I already have taken account of his injuries up to date, then it will be your throat I feed from and it will not be kindly,” before stalking to the bookkeeper and paying the fee for the next three days.
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Thank you to whoever takes the time to look!
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