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Alastor has always been a hunter.
He started as a young boy. He and his siblings all caught fireflies in the evenings, chasing little lights around in the darkness, catching them in their chubby little child hands. But while his siblings let their prey go, Alastor did not. When he caught a firefly, he crushed his hands closed around it, and its light went out. As he grew he moved on to mice, then to stray cats and dogs.
As a man he hunted men. Often he was a shadow among shadows in an alleyway, on a lonely road, among quiet trees. He waited silently for some fool to pass by and then he pounced. His prey would fight, scream, run, but Alastor always caught them in the end. Oh, he had such splendid chases by moonlight!
Other times his hunt was more metaphorical. Then he was not a bloodthirsty stranger in the night but a friend, clever and amusing, burrowing his way into his prey’s life until they trusted him, until he revealed his teeth. That kind of long, careful hunt was fun, too.
Twenty-three hunts passed this way. But the twenty-fourth went wrong. On the twenty-fourth he was no ordinary hunter. He was reckless, stupid, and he became Actaeon - the hunter who is torn apart by dogs, transformed into a deer as divine punishment for his crimes.
Being Actaeon wasn’t so bad, though. He had no need to hide his nature anymore, and hunting the damned was even more amusing than hunting the living. Demons came in so many more shapes and sizes. He never knew what he would see when he cut them open —would their guts blink with eyeballs blinded by the sudden light? Would their bones be woven chains of pulsing white flowers? Would there be blood at all, or just black oil? The anatomical variation was delightful.
Overlords were the best prey of all, because they were the most difficult to catch. And so proud! They never thought they could become prey until it happened. But they all screamed the same in the end. What sweet music his broadcast spread!
Husk was the only Overlord Alastor caught but did not kill. Alastor has never been quite sure why. He’d played at the subtle kind of hunt with Husk. Been a friend, an ally, a source to rely upon when his fellow Overlord needed him. And then Husk had needed too much, and Alastor was all too happy to provide. But some lingering trace of that false friendship remained, a parasite Alastor could not pull from his shriveled heart. Alastor, appallingly, realized he did not want to kill Husk. He wanted to keep him.
It was a strange desire for him. Alastor never wanted a pet while he was alive. He never saw the point. What use was a dumb beast following you around while you went about your day? Why would he want to feed and clean up after something he could not even hold a decent conversation with? Animals were fun to pull apart, but people were better.
But Husk is different. True, his pet likes to pretend he’s the one in control, but cats are proud creatures, so such games are only to be expected. And Husk is quite clever, though you wouldn’t know it from his uncouth manner. He knows how to please his owner.
Sometimes, before his years away, Alastor used to send Husk out to hunt. That’s what cats are supposed to do, after all - bring back terrified, half-dead mice and lizards and birds as gifts to lay at their person’s feet. Alastor does prefer doing the hunting himself, but there is still a joy to be had in occasionally letting someone else do the hard work.
What lovely gifts his cat used to bring him! It’s a pity he can’t have Husk hunt for him at the hotel. It would upset Charlie. And Alastor cannot afford to upset Charlie. Not yet.
He is hunting her. It is a very difficult and dangerous hunt. He is using all his best tricks and traps, and one day… one glorious day, he will catch her. Oh, how Alastor longs for that day. He will devour her slowly, savoring each bite. How sweet she will taste! All her kindness will be like honey in his mouth. That day is far from today, but that doesn’t matter. Alastor is patient.
In the meantime, lesser flesh will sate him.