Dirty Harry [Prp]

[Sabra]

The wolf had gotten lost on her quest to find the tiger man and had somehow ended up in one of Boston's back alleys after chasing a particularly tasty looking cat. Unfortunately Sabra didn't possess the same fence bounding abilities the feline did and was left pawing mournfully at the chain link.

The cat's escape is made up for by a bounty of spoiled food, imprisoned only by their cardboard containers. Sabra is quick to give up on her prey and turn towards the hidden feast. How could anyone throw out such delicacies? Freezer burnt steaks, chicken bones, fish heads--humans knew not of the true pleasures of food you found on your own.

There is little disturbance from the city as she (no pun intended) wolfs down her meal and it isn't until the night breeze stirs something that she lifts her head from the box of moldy sausage links, swallows the last of her prize before looking up. A young man, smartly dressed strides down the side walk, all alone. In the deep shadows of the alley he may not even be able to sense her presence as she creeps forward, devil ears perked, long tongue swiping the last of the spoiled meat juices off her jowls. Her claws scrape against the pavement and she lunges forward, lean brindle body illuminated by the pale light of a street light.

And it might be a typical movie monster image, the great shaggy beast, fangs gleaming in the darkness as it leaps from its hiding place to wrap its jaw around the vulnerable human. If not for the fact her tail is wagging the whole time.

Spit arches through the air as she plants his front paws against his chest, knocks the man to the ground without an ounce of guilt or fear on her part. Sabra is lucky there is no one else on the lonely street to race to his aide or scream for help and she is free to cover his face in happy licks, muzzle pushed under his hand in a universal invitation of pet me.

Strangers were simply friends she hadn't met yet, all with the same potential of belly rubs.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Nathan cannot exactly admit to Boston growing on him, but there is a certain peace he’s reclaimed since his wolf had found its footing – since his dalliance with Jericho had quieted its ceaseless baying. He has dedicated himself to learning his place, to learning the city that is now his home, in an effort to calm his frayed nerves and provide his human half with comfort that does not need to be drawn from another man. If that means walking from the office to his apartment building each evening, so be it. Nathan revels in the time alone, the streets as silent as they ever are, and it provides him with an opportunity to relax, to collect his thoughts.

It is from this reverie that the wolf wakes him; where his reflexes were in tune with the pulse of Vegas, Boston has yet to spill her secrets, and he is caught off-guard by the animal’s attack. There is a moment of panic that threatens to overwhelm him – he reaches for his pistol, and realizes too late that it is locked away in his apartment – and then his back is on the pavement and there are stars dancing behind his eyes. Where he expects a follow-up blow of crushing teeth and lethal strength… nothing comes. The cruel upswing of his elbow – aimed for the wolf’s nose – is routed by a laving tongue; instead of a ferocious attack, the animal pins him to the sidewalk and slobbers unceremoniously on his face.

—and all over his tailored suit. Nathan grimaces.

His wolf bristles and spits at her audacity, her insolence – her ignorance. Nathan is of no mind to disagree, and it is with an inhuman show of strength that he grabs at the animal’s neck and lifts, hauling her with him as he rises. His grip is tight and twisting in the lose skin and fur behind her ear – the very image of a slighted sovereign punishing a disrespectful whelp – and the corner of his mouth twitches in a restrained snarl. Where fear should exist, the animal’s innate dominance makes him bold; Nathan bears down upon the strange wolf with all the force of his beast’s arrogance behind his eyes. A sound distracts him; the man glances up, freezing.

A small family crosses the street nearby, well within hearing distance. A toddler tugs at his father’s arm and points at the scene, squealing excitedly; his parents balk and stare, clearly shocked. Nathan straightens slowly, as though there is nothing unusual about this at all, and slides his grip to a more gentle hold on the animal’s scruff.

”Bad – uh, Skittles,” he shoots at the wolf lamely, and almost apologetically. Big, tough werewolf name. ”No running off.” Nate shakes softly at her scruff for good measure, and then turns to haul her off down the street – away from the slowly reassured family. His anger quenched in the grounding moment, the man waits until the street is empty once more, and will then crowd the (hopefully complacent) animal back down a quiet alley. He stares at her curiously before cautiously releasing his hold – because he is not dressed for a chase, should she bolt.

”Well, who the hell are you.” As though she could respond; but talking aloud allows him to process. He is new to the city, yes, and doubts that he’d even know all of its supernatural residents given ample time, but this is a lapse he cannot ignore. This is Nathan’s job. Running amok on all fours is a breach of pack trust, and he will find out who she is before the night is through.

[Sabra]

Although she's spent six years living with this curse Sabra has always been careful. How could you trust something you knew so little about? Everything she had ever read about werewolves painted a picture of a malevolent beast with an unquenchable thirst for the blood of innocents. Although the only innocent things she had ever killed were perhaps a few chickens or a yapping dog, Sabra wasn't about to put someone else in danger simply for her carelessness.

It was easy to forget though, to forget to replace a latch or pound in another nail, small mistakes that accumulated and allowed for a wolf to wander the streets of Boston.

And perhaps she would have moved onto larger prey tonight if not for the happenstance of one man. Her wolf isn't exactly sure what to think of him. She has never met another of her kind while in this form and everything that Sabra is able to disregard, that twinge of recognition, a feeling in her gut that urges her to look, to find out, flares as a bright need in the beast.

Before she can reach in for another lick hands twist in the thick fur of her neck, lifting the wolf off her feet. She struggles in his hold, clacking her jaws shut in his face, clearly disgruntled with the rough treatment. But all the bravado of youth is quickly silenced with Nathan's fierce display. The brindle creature whines low in her throat, tail creeping between her legs.

Something distracts the man and Sabra paws lamely at the distance between her and solid ground. It's not a particularly graceful end to her first night of freedom and even the wolf debates at giving the man a good nip to remember her by; maybe he would drop her if she bit him hard enough. It's a tempting thought.

”Bad – uh, Skittles,” ”No running off.”

Skittles? What type of name was that for such a marvelous beast as she? Nate was severely lacking in the creativity department. The wolf manages as much of a disappointed look as an animal can, reluctantly cowed as he shakes her and turns down the street, paws dangling in the air and then scrambling for a hold when he finally sets her down.

Sabra clings to the sidewalk, belly flush with the concrete and stares up at the man with accusing blue eyes, ears pinned to her skull. What had she done to deserve such punishment? A pitiful whimper escapes from the gangly creature and she rolls onto her back, tongue lolling from her jaws.

”Well, who the hell are you.”

As if sensing she wasn't going to be getting belly rubs from him any time soon the brindle wolf snorts indignantly, rising to her feet and twisting to smooth her coat. She was a regal lady after all, not meant to be man handled in such a cruel fashion. Nate wasn't going to get a peep out of her, so Sabra decided, muzzle buried in her back side, nibbling at a particularly itch spot.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

She may not be able to answer his question, but the little wolf provides him with response enough – she is certainly no bloodthirsty beast, or is at least an animal easily cowed by posturing and authority. Nathan’s wolf seems satisfied; the man, however, is not. Sabra is still an anomaly, a curiosity, an error he must put back into place. As she sulks, he thinks, and reaches a hand out to give the animal a rough, reluctantly affectionate scratch to her head and those twisted devil ears. He should really find out if Boston has some sort of safe house for him to dump inconvenient nightwalkers like this – and it is with a sigh that he decides to bring the wretched animal home. The night is young enough that leaving her on the streets is dangerous, and Nathan is keen to find out what shred of humanity lurks beneath this guise of fur and fang.

”C’mon, then. Let’s get you someplace less suspicious, yeah?” The werewolf feels mildly idiotic talking to an animal, but he figures his new, softer tone may get his point across. Patting his hip encouragingly, the man glances down at his reluctant companion with a shrug and a wan smile, and then heads cautiously back to the street. It is empty, but presuming Sabra follows along like a good dog, they won’t stand out too horribly should anyone spot them – and Nate will reward her behavior with a few begrudging pats for good measure.

It’s better than lifting her up and hauling her bodily home – which he will resort to as the first sign of resistance.

It is, thankfully, only a few blocks to Nathan’s apartment, and they are spared any embarrassing explanations as to why he’s dragging a large and strange-looking black dog into his building. He lets the wolf into his flat with a subtle frown, casting about the living room for anything she might immediately get into. If there is one thing Nathan has learned since becoming a werewolf, it is to never let one overnight in your own home – but here, his hand seems to have been forced. Letting the animal have her freedom to roam in the room, the man shrugs off his suit jacket – suitably slobbered upon – and slips out of his shoes, then pauses in the entry to watch the animal settle.

Nate’s never had a dog, but he knows wolves. He stuffs his dress shoes beneath the couch and picks up the other few objects scattered about that she might find tempting; anything left is cheap enough to replace, and he has no qualms about making her human half pay for damages. He has enough presence of mind to leave an old t-shirt and a blanket for her on the coffee table. It’s with a final pained look at the useless lump of an animal that the man backs towards the bedroom door, hoping against all odds she doesn’t manage to make a mess of his living room. ”Be good,” he sighs, and makes to shut the door behind him. ”—Or I’ll lock you in the goddamn bathroom.”

Heaven help her if she should keep him awake.

[Sabra]

Sabra contemplated disobedience but all it took was one scratch to her ears and she was his. He patted his side and she followed, rubbing her cheek against his thigh with obvious mirth. Clearly, the man had just needed a moment to warm up to her particular brand of absolute adorableness, slobber included. Her claws click against the sidewalk and they encounter no one but sparking street lights and the odd stray cat. It's a much more preferable fate than curling up in the tub in her bathroom for the night or roaming the alleys and getting caught by animal control, or worse.

Odds are she would have ended up the local Chinese buffet's next special if she had continued on her dumpster diving spree.

As the man busies himself with cleaning up the apartment Sabra takes the time to explore. There are so many scents here, old and new, and chief among them is that of another male like him, like her. She paws at his bedroom door where the smell emanates from the strongest, but abandons it before long to pester after Nathaniel. Live prey was always more interesting.

The brindle wolf, scraggly thing that she is circles around his heels as he turns back to the bedroom, cocking her head to the side with a short whine as he opens the door and says something. Sabra wiggles her butt, tail beating the air at a thousand miles a minute. He must be inviting her inside of course, but before she can make two steps forward he shuts the door in her face.

What a confusing creature...

She sinks to her hindquarters after a moment of false hope that the barrier would reopen and Nathan would scoop her up with ear scratches and belly rubs aplenty. If he wanted to snuggle with her why would he lock her outside? Such a mystery men were. Narrowing her eyes in determination she rose and began dragging her nails down the barrier, pausing only to let loose the most irritating, highest pitched bark she could muster.

Begrudgingly, and with enough foul words that even the wolf could understand she was in trouble he let her in. She stuck her nose in his crotch in greeting, taking a deep exhale before bounding away and taking to the comfortable bed with one mighty leap.

------------

There was something to be said about the after affects of eating spoiled meat. Sabra woke up, plastered against something considerably warm and soft. The morning sun, horrid bitch that she was, peeked through the curtains and seemed to drill right into her corneas. With a groan the dark-haired woman attempted to bury herself beneath the covers, disregarding for the moment why she wasn't climbing out of a bathtub and was instead in a comfortable bed.

She may have had a few more moments in dreamland, curled against the large, heat generating lump before reality kicked in. That or the churning of her gut. "Oh god." Sabra set up, running her hands over her tired face, peeking out at the room between the spaces of her fingers. This wasn't right, where was the tile floor and the clawed feet of her tub, why was she naked? Why was she in in a strange apartment and, most importantly, why was she in bed with a man? An attractive one at that, the vet student confirmed, peeking over the sleeping figure for a look at his face. At least she had kept her standards up, but that hardly explained how she had gotten here. While it wasn't exactly the first time she had experienced such phenomenon, it sure as hell had never happened on the morning after a full moon.

Drawing the covers up over her chest Sabra set a hand on the man's shoulder, shaking him lightly and hopefully into consciousness. "Hey, do ya have any clothes I could borrow?" Because this was a casual thing and there was absolutely no reason to be anything but cool as a cucumber. "Can't seem to find mine." She rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous smile, hoping this was a good first step into the questioning of what the hell she was doing here.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

The warmth against his side is innately familiar, and even as Nathan shifts in the slow awakening of fitful half-sleep, he does not question it. Within the gentle confines of slumber there are no memories of the previous night, no worries regarding appearances or implications; he recognizes the motion of the presence beside him only as a frustrating absence, and does not rise. It takes Sabra’s gentle coaxing to rouse Nathan at all – and even then his return to consciousness is slow and confused, bewilderment written in his heavy-lidded blue eyes and furrowed into his brow.

Groaning, the man holds up a hand at the surprisingly calm woman, stilling her babble for the moment it takes him to process his thoughts. Nathan sits up slowly and scrubs his palm across his face, willing the evening to come back to him. He found a wolf. He brought her home. He – for some reason – thought getting a good night’s sleep was worth letting the animal cover his bed in hair and drool, and as the woman smiles at him, Nathan can’t help but chuckle. Maybe it had been worth it. He leans back against the pillows, bare-chested, and drops his hands to watch her with a smug, if tired, smirk.

”Could find some yourself,” he suggests brazenly, drawing his eyes down to where she clutches the blankets so tightly. There are worse things in the world than waking up next to a naked, attractive woman – and Nathan is rather fond of this optimistic take on their morning. ”Sit tight.” As though she had any other option. Giving in, Nate rises from the bed carefully – he may be willing to flirt and tease, but he’ll spare her further embarrassment – and rummages about in a dresser before returning with a worn t-shirt and sweatpants. He holds them out with his gaze pointedly directed upwards, and turns away to let her dress.

Nathan takes to peering out the windows while he gives her some privacy, though it is abundantly clear that he doesn’t plan on leaving her alone entirely. ”Enjoy yourself last night?” A loaded question with a heated delivery. He chances a glance over his shoulder. ”Most girls I bring home aren’t so eager to jump back in their clothes.” He slides his palm down the glass, watching the cars drift by far below, and figures he’s given her enough time. Nathan turns back around, dressed or not, with a raised brow and a curious expression.

”You were wandering.” Unless her wolf is incredibly young, the man figures she’ll understand – and if she doesn’t, he’ll have a whole new hell to deal with. Indoctrinating someone else’s accident isn’t high on his list of pleasurable conversations. ”And don’t worry,” he adds casually, stepping to his closet to withdraw a change of clothes of his own. ”I just brought you home. The bed was your idea.” He shrugs himself into a shirt, tosses a pair of jeans on the bed, and fixes the girl with a cocksure smile. ”—My tastes don’t really run towards wolf.”

At least not the four-legged variety.

[Sabra]

His sleep heavy voice pours over her and Sabra finds the whole matter of her relocation becoming less and less urgent as he sits up in bed, covers mercifully remaining in place around her chest. "I'd hardly appreciate anyone goin' through my things." Personal privacy is a matter she takes seriously, although perhaps more pressing is the the fact she keeps her knives in her underwear drawer.

Conversation was always conducted better when clothed and Sabra is more than a little appreciative as he heads for the dresser, allowing her grip on the sheets to loosen a little. As he had taken no great effort to avert his gaze neither does the Kentucky girl. She tilts her head to the side with a decidedly pleased smile, admiring the man as he bends over to retrieve the clothes. "Thank you." She waits for him to turn around before slipping out of bed herself, wincing at sore muscles. What exactly from was something to be investigated shortly.

The sweat pants hang loosely around her hips and it's only for the blessing of the baggy t-shirt that Nate doesn't get flashed every time she makes a step. There wasn't enough muscle in the world to make her five foot two frame able to fill out his clothes. Still, the dark-haired man quickly distracts her with a few worded quips. Typical, if not a little alarming. Maybe she hadn't turned after all, but that didn't explain how she had escaped her pad-locked bathroom and even been able to meet up with another soul to spur such comments. "Mm, that so?" She hauls herself up on the edge of his bed, swinging her legs back in forth as he talks.

It was too early in the morning to be spitting fire, yet. There is a marked unsettledness she feels, out of her own territory and without Jezebel on her hip. Nathan held all the answers and Sabra finds herself in the unique position of having to be polite.

He dresses and speaks at the same time, makes it clear he has the upper hand here. "So you know what I am," Sabra takes a moment to consider this in it's entirety, "You're a wolf then? Shouldn't ya be more--" She gestures wide, expanding his form into what she images a male werewolf should look like. Giant, hulking, muscled. Although Nathan doesn't exactly disappoint in any area he isn't the story book creature she imagined. "Monstrous?"

Now for the next curiosity on her list. "I didn't try to eat you?" The college student, knowledge drawn from legends and tales assumes this is what a wolf does, but the room is clean enough and the man absent of any bite marks or blood stains that would indicate such things. "I don't understand." Someone explain to her what had happened exactly? Why, most importantly, he felt compelled to bring home a wee lost werewolf and why she wasn't covered in his guts.

”I just brought you home. The bed was your idea.” ”—My tastes don’t really run towards wolf.”

"Oh," Sabra halts the rhythmic bounce of her heels against the mattress for a moment, eyebrows attempting to climb into her hairline. "Good, because that would be all sorts of wrong."

Now she was speculating about werewolf sex and really, this wasn't going anywhere productive. "Is it too early in the mornin' to start question' you about the biology of werewolves? Paint me curious." Six years and she had never met another of her kind. Maybe she should have let him get his coffee first, but science waited for no man, or beast.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

Nathan slips his jeans up over his hips, and glances at Sabra with a skeptical smirk. It is a reaction created both out of confusion and arrogance. The former because it is shocking to think that she doesn’t understand the nature of wolves, of the pack; the latter because clearly Nathan would have kicked her ass if she’d tried to eat him. Still, her concern seems honest enough, and Nate huffs a sigh as he steps to the bathroom, his eyes ghosting over her small form seated in his too-big clothes. The man’s approval is a subtle, low rumble that radiates in his chest, and he cuts it off as he leans towards the mirror to fix his hair.

”Monstrous?” he questions, calling towards her through the open door. ”Yeah – and you’re really the pinnacle of horror movie werewolf girl, right?” Still, Nathan feels slighted. He assesses himself in the mirror like he can’t quite wrap his head around her not liking what she’s seen, and scratches at the side of his lip. ”You should see my wolf,” the man chuckles darkly, running a hand through his hair before washing his face. He may be the image of a mundane, red-blooded male in this form, but he is well aware that the animal he hosts is another thing entirely. If she wanted her fears confirmed, she need look no further.

”And I don’t think you’d eat anybody.” Maybe get eaten. Maybe if she was pushed – he’d seen some fight in her. ”—You’re more of a puppy dog, really. Drool included.” Nathan eases backwards to glance at her from just beyond the open bathroom door, frowning pointedly. ”You slobbered all over my suit.” He’s pretty sure werewolf spit comes out, but it’s still a breach he has to address – because that’s just wrong. Seemingly satisfied, he returns to the bedroom and motions for her to follow him outside, trying not to let his gaze linger on her too long. There’s a point where it just gets pathetic, and he won’t toe that line.

Nathan guides her to the kitchen, where he starts a pot of coffee and sets to rummaging in the fridge. It may be his lurking good humor from his wolf’s satisfaction – it may be Jericho’s scent still clinging to the room, or Sabra strolling around in his clothing – but playing host doesn’t seem to leave him feeling too put-upon. ”Yeah, uh – definitely too early in the morning for that.” He withdraws a carton of eggs and shuts the door with his hip. ”I don’t even know your name. Little soon for a biology lesson, wouldn’t you think?” The look Nathan shoots her is nothing like innocent – and he turns with a laugh and a shake of his head, scrounging around for a pan.

”I’m Nate. You don’t mind eggs, right?” He’s already cracking them, and he doesn’t have a backup should they be an issue. She should probably be happy he’s feeding her at all. ”…So you don’t, ah,” Nate stumbles, strangely at a loss for words. Broaching the subject of rogue werewolf shouldn’t be so difficult. ”—You don’t know about Boston, then? Werewolves – the pack?” Turning from the stove, Nate leans up against the counter and watches the woman curiously. ”We’ve got rules on running around like you were. On living here in general. It’s better for you, in the long run, if you follow them. You’ll be safer.” The sound of eggs sizzling in the pan flares up, fills the silent gaps between their words.

He doesn’t know – doesn’t care – if she makes running around as a wolf a habit. She’ll learn the rules, he’ll learn who she is, and they can each go their separate ways.

[Sabra]

"Why? Do ya turn into a scary beast?" Full of teeth and soul rending red eyes, Sabra grins at the image, following his movements across the room with great interest. For a supposed terrifying creature of the night he comes in quite the appealing package. "Is there some sort of regional difference between werewolves?" Perhaps the city werewolves were a shade more other wordly than her scraggly, wolf hound self.

She has to restrain herself from babbling on, telling Nathan about the tiger shifter she had met and asking him all about the supernatural world. She has so many questions and the dark-haired woman only wished her usual subjects were this interesting. "A puppy dog?" Now it's her turn to feel slighted and Sabra sits up a little straighter in her seat, craning her neck to see what Nate's up to in there--fixing his hair, whoever said men weren't just as persnickety as women never really met one. "I can assure you, I'm no puppy dog, Mr. Spooky Werewolf." He sort of takes the wind out of her sails with the bit about her drooling on his suit, and really what can she say to that but shut up?

Nate flips off the lights and restores a bit of her confidence by drawing his eyes away. Sabra just smiles, hikes her donated pants a little higher and trails after him with jaunty steps.

"Biology, yes, reproductive physiology lesson?" She narrows green eyes at him with a devilish grin, about as self assured as a person can be, going commando in someone else's kitchen. "Before coffee? You're an ambitious man, Nate." While she has no intention of fulfilling such ideas the woman is all too happy in demonstrating just how comfortable she can be in his home. "I'm Sabra, and eggs would be wonderful."

The familiarity of breakfast sizzling and the smell of coffee brewing in the pot helps ease what awkwardness there is and she finds herself a seat at the table, withholding any critique of his cooking techniques. Not everyone appreciated such things, even, or especially from a professional such as she.

"Werewolf pack?" The concept isn't completely foreign to her, but the fact that such a thing actually exists is. She crosses her arms under her breasts, dropping her gaze from Nate to process the information. He knows more than her, much more and while something inside her insists on being the rebellious teenage of ye olden days Sabra is a smart woman and knows she has no room to argue with him. If not for the fact she senses he is much higher on the food chain than her, then out of sheer politeness. Making her breakfast, picking her up off the street and clothing her? It's much more than she would expect from anyone and her Momma did teach her some manners.

One of which is not letting folks' eggs burn.

With a sigh she rises from her chair, strides into the kitchen and turns the pan towards her, flipping the eggs in a graceful arc gesture, perhaps a little show offish. "Alright, I guess. Membership sort of required, huh?" She gives control of the kitchen back to Nate, "Midnight excursions usually aren't my thing, thank you, again." For not locking her in a crate, leaving her to get hit by an SUV?

"Usually I end up sleepin' in my bathtub, land lady has ears on her like a bat. No pets allowed and all that." She smiles gently from her place against the counter, eases her long hair over one shoulder, practiced hands attempting to tame the tangled mess into a braid.

And perhaps with filled bellies she could begin her interrogation of the werewolf.

[♥ Nathan ♥]

”Sabra,” he replies with a smooth flare, and removes two mugs from a cupboard. ”You have no idea how ambitious I can be. Coffee or not.” He smirks at her and places the cups on the table. It feels good – easy – to be so honestly relaxed in his own home, with another human being. Jericho is fun, but Jericho is complicated. With Sabra, Nathan settles to all the comfortable nonchalance of a successful one-night stand without any of the guilt. It helps that she plays along and bites right back – and that once she leaves, he’ll likely never have to see her again.

He turns around to catch her minding the eggs with a deliberate show of finesse, and the werewolf quirks a brow and offers her a pinched smile. They may just be eggs, but Nathan isn’t an awful cook – a lifetime of bachelordom at least left one with a few talents – and though she may be overstepping, the werewolf only seems amused. He tosses some bread in the toaster while the eggs sizzle; another few moments, and he’s piling their dishes high with food and gesturing for Sabra to join him at the table. Nathan places her breakfast in front of her, and sets about filling their mugs.

”Required is a nice way of putting it.” The thread of conversation continues despite the lull; the man settles across from her, and pushes at his eggs idly. ”There’s people worse than me who could have found you – who might not like the idea of some stranger putting us all in danger.” He takes a mouthful of food and lets that idea settle in. Unknown wolves are a far greater risk to the pack than its plethora of members. ”You wouldn’t have to… attend meetings, or whatever.” Nathan waves his fork in a dismissive gesture. ”We just need to know who you are.” That you’re not a liability. ”You play by Boston’s rules, and Boston takes care of you. If you ever get into trouble.” And the look Nathan levels her implies that she best not get into any. Boston is a good pack – better than most – but punishments are harsh by necessity.

Nathan shrugs, dispelling the tense moment, and allows them the moments of silence to eat and regain something of their previous relaxed nature. Pack security is everything; it is his job, his life. He has no other way of viewing the world than through a lens of what keeps himself, Nikolai – the firm and the city – safe. That he is an unrepentant flirt has no bearing on his work ethic; or so he’d like to believe.

”It’s not a big deal. Seems like you got the basics well enough covered by yourself.” Nate leans back from the table, balancing his chair on two legs. Specifics, details, they’re irrelevant so long as she’s willing to play by the book – he can get her settled later. That she wasn’t just some stray and is already used to overnighting in her bathroom is a good enough sign. ”Are you new in Boston, then?” Rising slowly, Nate collects his plate and hers, should she be finished. ”Surprised you hadn’t run into – another one of us, before now, I mean.” He glances upwards, meeting her eyes. ”Boston’s kind of known for it. It’s a good place to be.”

Now that she’s pack.

[Sabra]

While the whole situation is all sorts of weird Sabra has to admit there is something comforting about that, while they may be discussing werewolves and packs (who knew Boston was home not only to the Fenway Park but a whole bunch of cryptid beings) they're still making breakfast, flirting with each other.

"You should put your money where your mouth is." Grins at him, tempted to make a swat at the man, but the southerner figures such an act would be pushing it.

Together they settle down to eat, Sabra taking a healthy swig of black coffee to the lingering spoiled meat flavor out of her mouth. She considers Nathan's words carefully, between scarfing down her eggs. "So what are ya'll like then? The supernatural mafia or something?" It doesn't seem like such a farfetched idea to her, but then Nate could probably tell her that the Loch Ness Monster existed and she'd believe him. In a world of single father Siberian tigers and tousled haired, stray werewolf saviors anything is possible.

"Truth be told you're the first werewolf I've ever ran into." Sabra's a bit embarrassed to admit it, why exactly she doesn't know, but it feels like some sort of mark against her monster hood. "I've been here a couple years, just for school." The first of her family to attend college, maybe the first of her family to ever be out of the Smoky Mountains in a century or more. It wouldn't surprise Sabra, tradition was a long, strangling chain and it could suffocate the life out of you if you let it. She breaks a smile when she looks up to see Nathan balancing on the back of his chair, boyish, hardly lending to that ferocious nature he hinted at earlier.

Still, she had a mean old hound growing up and he'd wag his tail at you, let him pet you just so he could draw you in close and then snap his teeth over your hand. Sabra thinks werewolves might not be so different.

On that thought, "Oh hey!" She forces down a mouthful of eggs, "I was meanin' to ask; how does this whole werewolf thing work anyhow? I mean, I know the bit about turnin' on the full moon yadayada but scientifically speakin'. Is it transferred like a virus? Like AIDS?" Probably not the best comparison, especially at the breakfast table, but it's the closest thing Sabra can think of on the spot. "If you bit someone as a human would that change them or do ya have to be a wolf to change somebody?" She wrinkled her nose, setting her fork down for a moment to backtrack. "Not that I'm interested in changin' anybody or nothing."

Realizing that she may have shattered the whole 'sexy, one night stand that's not a one night stand' mood Sabra clears her throat and dabs at her chin in some semblance of lady likeness.

"Just for reference purposes."