To Love is to Sacrifice

"I've never felt more alive than when I am lost in the moment and concentrated on the hunt." Mal breathed quietly, pleading in his eyes as he looked up at her.

Lyria could only stare down at him in silent horror, her body frozen as fear iced through her veins.

Mal raised his hands slowly, caution keeping every movement smooth and unthreatening.

"Please, just give me a moment to explain," He asked standing from a crouch, hands still placating in reassurance, "I was a ghost before I hunted the first time, empty and without purpose in my life."

He paused, taking in her shocked expression, but took her silence as acquiescence and continued on.

"Lil, I was no one, and had nobody, but this experience changed me into the man you know and love today. Can't you see how at ease I've become."

She began shaking her head slowly, his words finally illiciting some emotion other than terror, but it was denial.

"You were fine the way you were, this is NOT something that should complete you." Tears began welling in her eyes, and Mal could not help but notice how they glistened like the night sky when it was clear, perfect hunting weather.

"There are other things that can make you feel..." she paused trying to come up with the right words, "whatever it is that you are missing that are far less.... violent." She nearly whispered the last word, drawing herself inward, a shiver running up her body that had nothing to do with the cold weather outside.

Mal felt a rush of emotions as he considered her. The first was disappoiment at, once again, being misunderstood.

If only she could feel the calm of finding the perfect predator, or the anticipation of stalking it for hours, then the exhilarating satisfaction of downing a trophy worthy beast. It gave him an adrenaline rush that was unmatched, to be an apex predator against other animals who had spent their lives sharpening their own skills.

He sighed, knowing that there was no getting through to her with words. But then an idea came to him and a spark of hope flickered through him as he thought of a way to help her understand where he was coming from.

He turned the filet knife in his hand, the brown leather wrapped hilt towards her, in invitation. He just had to prove to her that hunting was not all that bad, and perhaps if she experienced it, the calming ritual that encompassed it, the glorious satisfaction of making something good out of the animals death, then she'd be able to accept his night time hobby.

She flinched away from his movement, her back pressing against the cabins aged wooden door. His heart fell at that, the fear that now instinctively made her ready to flee, almost like a prey.

"Just try it, I can show you how it's done and I promise that all the kills are done humanely. They feel no pain, and I promise I always honor their sacrifice by using as much as possible, no waste." Perhaps talking through the sensible side of hunting could make the mess of a beast behind him less horrifying.

Her eyes flicked from his face, to his hand, to behind him and back, her face paling with every pass, the whites of her eyes growing wider in the dim firelight.

"I... I can't." Her voice breaking off in an gasp. He could see her taking in, what must be to her, the illusion of gore and murder. His hands and clothes were painted in the animals blood from the cleaning process. The broken body of the once lively thing that was equally as skilled at hunting as himself.

Mal sighed resignfully as he pulled his outstretched knife back, and nodded, breaking his gaze from hers. He loved her, but if she couldn't see how happy and alive this made him then things wouldn't work between them.

That hallow feeling was creeping back into his chest. He thought that perhaps he could teach her to enjoy hunting too... but some people couldn't get past the brief violence of it.

His eyes raked over the prostrate form of a large man, splayed artfully, meticulously, on the tarped floor. Not a drop of blood beyond the canvas boundaries, his innards cut with precision and accuracy. The man had been a monster in life, a beast that needed to be put down. And Mal had taken that responsibility upon himself.

But even if Lyria could not accept him for who he was, he felt a growing flitter of hope because he knew he would never be alone again as long as there were rapists and murderers in the world.

His love for her was strong, but not strong enough to stay his hand from the one thing that finally gave him life, and saved countless others. He had worked so long, practicing the hunt, perfecting it. It took him weeks to months just to find a potential candidate and even longer to validate their crimes. All of that work would be wasted and more people would suffer at the hands of sick and evil men who preyed upon the weak and helpless. The thought of their continuation made his stomach sick, bile rising in his throat. To let that go on...

He turned back to her and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Determination setting his shoulders squarely, centering himself and then he lunged.

In one, swift, fatal swoop the hunters blade glided smoothly through the space between her ribs, sinking expertly into her heart. Her lifes blood warming his cold hands. Her sweet scent of cashmere and rose caressing his nose as her long honey blonde hair brushed against his face.

He had mastered the art of a flawless, painless kill, and caught her as she slumped forward in a forever rest.

Her sacrifice would save the lives of countless others. He would honor her, for them, and for the simple fact that she wasn't a bad person who deserved to die like this. In fact she'd been the closest thing to perfect that he'd ever experienced. But he knew she'd never let him get away with this, her heart to pure to understand that sometimes violence, does indeed, stop violence.

Mal turned back to the canvas he'd been working on before she'd interrupted, and pondered how he might incorporate the newest addition to his art.

The hallow feeling of loneliness banished, if only for the time being.