Chapter Text
In truth, Will wasn’t entirely shocked when Jack Crawford called him in to assess a scene at Hannibal’s house. He had sensed there was something dark in Hannibal from the start, and a few months of knowing him, both inside and outside of their informal sessions, only intensified that impression. Something inside him called to something in Will, drew them together magnetically—shadows whispering to shadows. Will was far too cautious to confront it directly, unwilling to bet too much on the hope that Hannibal’s shadow bore the same form as his, and wasn’t simply the lure of a clever psychiatrist hoping to make Will’s reveal itself. But apparently Will had been right to notice it, because now someone was dead.
When Will arrived at the scene, Jack was looking understandably grim. He had been vague over the phone, but as soon as Will appeared in person, he jumped straight to the facts. “Local PD were called in for a mating scuffle gone bad. Wouldn’t have required more than a bit of paperwork usually, but the FBI feels it’s in our best interest to take a look at this sort of thing ourselves when it involves someone affiliated with us, even as a consultant. Making sure everyone’s crossing their T’s and dotting their I’s, keeping an eye out for anything fishy.”
“He’s not being charged with anything, is he?” It was legal, technically, for an omega to respond to an alpha’s mating overtures with violence, and the chances drastically increased when in a heat-induced fugue. But Will found himself more concerned than he should have been, and he had to admit to himself that he was less bothered by the thought that Hannibal had killed someone than he was by the fact that another alpha had the gall to go after him. This was a particularly unreasonable response considering Will wasn’t even courting Hannibal. It wasn’t appropriate for him to court Hannibal, as his patient of sorts, even if he wasn’t intimidated by his perfect composure and elegance—not to mention that indistinct darkness that lurked beneath his polite pretenses.
“Unlikely. It matches up with his heat cycle just fine. There are some defensive wounds, nothing too bad. But the scene’s a mess, Will. You need to see it for yourself. I know you have a working relationship with Dr. Lecter, so I won’t take your word for it. But I want your opinion.”
When Will walked into the sitting room and saw the scene, he knew immediately why Jack had wanted a second opinion on this one. Will had been expecting a torn throat or broken neck, maybe some bites and claw marks. That’s how it usually went, in these cases—the alpha made a move, was challenged, and failed to survive it. Alphas were expected to prove their worth to an omega before mating, and it was considered their own problem if they went after an omega high enough above their caliber to seriously injure them in the process of rejection. If in the failed mating they lost their life, it wasn’t the concern of the police.
But that wasn’t the scene that greeted Will. Instead, the corpse was slouched in an emerald green armchair with its abdomen torn wide open, blood drenching the chair and coagulating on the marble floor. So much blood that Will knew the man was still alive when he was disemboweled, and the certainty stopped him in his tracks. This wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t merciful. This was a predator let loose under the influence of his heat. Or taking advantage of that excuse, Will thought, uneasy.
Will could see Jack in his peripheral vision. His arms were crossed and when he spoke, his voice was tense. “Dr. Lecter says this man was an acquaintance of his. Knew he was going into heat, and found a way in through the back door. He must have forgotten to lock up properly once his heat hit.”
That gave him pause. Will very much doubted Hannibal would neglect something so basic as locking his doors before a heat, regardless of the confused state that often accompanied it. Which meant either Hannibal let him in intending to spend his heat with this alpha—plausible, but unusual for a pre-negotiated mating to result in a fatal challenge—or it had been a trap.
“You can see the murder weapon there,” Jack said, pointing at a scalpel on a nearby table. “Dr. Lecter says he always keeps one on hand to sharpen pencils, and grabbed it while in his heat fugue.”
Will nodded. “I’ve seen scalpels on his desk before, in his office.”
He stepped closer, eyes probing the abdominal cavity, which seemed… scrambled.
Jack sighed deeply. “He removed his liver and kidneys.”
“He…” He turned to look at Jack. “What did he do with them? I don’t see them.”
“He ate them.”
Will’s heart jumped. “Ate them.”
“Raw.”
Will’s eyes flickered away, landing on the victim’s gaping stomach, but his mind was racing too quickly to fully register what he saw. “Not unheard of. Rare, nowadays. But there’s good physiological reason for it. It’s been observed in other species as well.”
“Replenishing nutrients, making up for the loss of energy in mating, or heat. Yes, I know. You can’t say it doesn’t spook you, though. This kind of thing, in this day and age.”
“It’s… unexpected.” Impressive, actually, he thought. The kind of omega who would dine in such a way, rejecting the allure of a knot for the taste of this primal feast. Regardless of what darkness he sensed, he had never expected such visceral violence from someone who never set foot out of the house without a three-piece suit and carefully styled hair.
“Like I said, I won’t take your word for it. But I want your opinion. Is this kind of thing… does it look like it falls within normal parameters for this kind of omega behavior? Do you need the room as usual to take a closer look?”
Will didn’t have to take a closer look. He could already imagine Hannibal exactly as he would have been hours earlier, scalpel slicing unflinchingly through skin and flesh. The alpha shocked, and Hannibal unmoved. Blood running over his hands, the scalpel cast aside for the pure joy of ripping the flesh. His hands sinking into the belly and retrieving their prize, glistening trophies. The alpha still wheezing and dying beneath him when he took the first bite. Raw. Blood and juices running down his chin. The thought was… not unattractive. And if Will imagined the scene with any more clarity, he was afraid things might get a bit awkward.
So he shook his head. “This isn’t my usual kind of case. I’m not an omega specialist, Jack. Like I said, it’s been documented before, and it’s been excused on those occasions.”
“I’m not worried about the legal precedent. I’m worried about what kind of person we have consulting for the FBI. I had someone look into it as soon as I saw this—a history of violent heats, though not cannibalism, unless you count the odd bite. But several of the alphas did end up dead.”
Will shrugged, though he badly wanted to know more about those past incidents. “Doesn’t mean anything. Around a third of omegas are prone to violent heats. Usually doesn’t result in deaths, but it happens.”
“I want you to talk to him, see what you think. He’s not acting as traumatized as you’d expect, but maybe he’s just used to it by now. He’s in his study confirming his account of things. I told the officer in there to expect you—she’ll clear out and let you have a minute.”
Will nodded, and was pointed to the room where Hannibal sat, still covered in blood and draped in a light blanket, like a trauma victim, but looking just as untraumatized as Jack had said. He looked barely wounded, for one thing—most of the blood must have been from the alpha. Will could only see a few scratches, a bloody lip, and a bruise blooming on his cheekbone. In fact, he didn’t look at all as worn out as one might expect after a violent heat; he was practically glowing, looking more content than Will had ever seen him. Will could smell the fading trace of his heat as he approached, and the way its sweetness mingled with the salty stench of blood was strangely enticing.
The police officer in the room gathered up her notes and left without a word when Will entered the room, seemingly not eager to spend any more time with Hannibal than was strictly necessary.
And Will could see why. Hannibal's back was held straight and there wasn’t even a hint of shame in his eyes—he clearly knew his rights and felt no need to fake repentance. He nodded slightly in greeting. “I’m glad to see you, Will,” he said. “Though I am sorry for the inconvenience this must have caused.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” That felt like an understatement. The scene had been a revelation, and seeing Hannibal as he was now was a treat.
“Perhaps not to you.” Hannibal’s eyes crinkled. “However, I believe I have rather upset the local police with my behavior. It seems cannibalism is one step too far in their eyes, regardless of the nutritional benefits while in heat.”
“Seems to suit you well.” At the slight tilt of his head, Will quickly added, “I mean, you’re looking well, considering you just ended your heat. Most omegas are more… fatigued.”
“Possibly as a result of poor nutrition. I would recommend they supplement their diets accordingly.” His lips lifted into a slight smile, and Will found himself smiling back at the shamelessness of it. Then frowned, remembering why he was here.
“Jack asked me to come check things out. Make sure this is just an omega behavioral quirk and nothing more suspicious.”
“And your conclusion?”
Will contemplated him for a moment, feeling like he was being dared to question it. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “There’s enough precedent to ensure you won’t be held legally liable for it. Enough conceivable biological imperative to provide motivations that people can understand. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I asked for your conclusion, not that of law enforcement. Did you analyze the scene as you usually do?”
Will's eyes went to the door, but there was no sign anyone was listening in. Slowly, he shook his head. “I could see you clearly enough without it. All the blood. The hunger. Not so much savage as righteous, victorious over someone who was undeserving of you.” He paused. “I won’t tell Jack what I saw.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not his to see.” Will wondered if he should be so bold as to declare it as his to see, but quickly decided against it. He was still cautious, despite everything—feeling uncomfortably like his own shadow was being lured into the light, where he would be revealed too soon. “I’ll let you have your feast.”
“Very kind of you.”
“It’s not kindness.” At the question in Hannibal’s gaze, he couldn't help saying: “I think it might be greed.”
But despite having clearly piqued Hannibal’s interest, he couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t just embarrass himself, and he was relieved to hear footsteps approaching so he had a reason to excuse himself before Hannibal could ask him to elaborate.
Even as quickly as he left, his eyes met Hannibal’s as he was on the way out, and he thought he could feel it between them—Will’s barriers folding in on themselves as he accepted the instinct that this should be his mate, appropriateness be damned, and Hannibal’s satisfaction in knowing Will was hooked.
Whether or not he would court Hannibal was no longer the question. He knew, deep in his bones, that he would feel compelled to do so. The issue was figuring out how to court him without ending up eaten.
***
Their next session was only a few days later, and Will was finding it awkward, considering where their last conversation had left off. He wasn’t even sure how to greet Hannibal, upon entering his office—surely the socially appropriate thing to do would be to ask how he’s been, but that veered a bit too close to an insinuation of weakness, as if he might have been shaken by recent events. If anything, perhaps congratulations were in order—yet that would be far too direct, too presumptuous. Will was courting his shadow, and he needed to draw it out, not blind it with spotlights.
Hannibal of, course, was as calm and collected as usual. He let Will dodge the subject until he eventually commented, “You seem to be avoiding mentioning the incident of a few days ago. Has it made you uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word.”
“Of course. It wasn’t discomfort that you mentioned then, was it? It was greed.” Will couldn’t meet his eyes. “Then again, you ran away very quickly after saying it, and you look like you’d do the same now if you could, so ‘discomfort’ might not be entirely incorrect, after all.”
“I shouldn’t have said it. It was impulsive.”
“It sounded honest at the time. Tell me what you meant by it.”
He hesitated. Hannibal seemed more distant now, veiled—as if some door to the hidden recesses of his mind was left open in the immediate aftermath of the murder, and he had now had the time to close it. “I meant… I liked what I saw. And I didn’t want you to be corralled, regardless of what society might think of your inclinations.”
“Is saying you liked what you saw an attempt at flattery?”
He blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Or… maybe I do in a way, but it’s sincere. I can understand why you’d have so many suitors risking their lives.”
Hannibal hummed. “Flattery doesn’t work well on me, Will. I wouldn’t advise it. The last alpha who approached me was quite predisposed to flattery himself, and you bore witness to the result.”
He felt Hannibal’s attention on him even while avoiding his gaze, feigning an interest in the toe of his left shoe. It was unsettling. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then, because he just didn’t seem to be able to keep his tongue under control: “What would you advise?”
“Do you ask from curiosity, or self-interest?”
Will took a deep breath and forced his eyes back up—not quite able to bear direct contact with Hannibal’s, but getting close. “Bit of both.” When that seemed insufficient, he carefully said, “It’s not just surface-level attraction that I’m referring to. I know asking you directly will get me nowhere, but I want to know more about what I saw emerge through your actions the other day. Who I saw.”
“Far be it from me to discourage curiosity, if that’s what this is, but what makes you think there’s more to see?”
He forced himself to make eye contact. It almost burned, Hannibal’s own curiosity clearly razor sharp. “Because I see that you’re holding something in front of yourself to cover it. Paper thin, or thinner. Just gauze. You let that hidden thing run free the other day, and it’s taken a while to build up your disguise again—and it will never be entirely opaque, because it doesn’t need to be. You get your bloodlust and appetite out in the open and don’t have to deal with consequences, and it amuses you. But I can see there’s more to you than what you allow to be visible.”
Hannibal inclined his head—suggesting agreement at the same time as it made his stare even more intimidating. “If you believe there’s more to be seen, I would advise you the same as anyone: pay attention to the signs, but don’t spend so much time looking for clues that you forget to heed your own mind.”
“So that’s it—pay attention and go with my gut? You’re not going to try to discourage my curiosity, after all?”
Hannibal considered him for a moment before saying, “No, I don’t believe I will.” He sounded almost surprised.
As little as that gave him, Will found it strangely encouraging.
***
A few more days passed and Will still wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Heeding his mind” wasn’t helpful advice, as it turned out, because his mind was simply a mess. It took less than a week after the incident for Jack to officially drop any scrutiny of Hannibal, though Will sensed it would take him longer than that to start fully trusting Hannibal again. It did, however, give Will one less excuse to procrastinate making a move.
He knew he wanted to make some kind of courtship gesture toward Hannibal and make his intent clear, but he had no idea how to go about courting anyone, let alone someone who had a habit of eating his suitors. He could only assume Hannibal would want him to put in a full effort—flowers, dinners, the whole nine yards. But the thought didn't sit right with him. Hannibal seemed the kind of person to appreciate such things, yes, but what Will had witnessed, to his boundless awe, deserved something better than that. Something unique and unmistakably meant for Hannibal.
He ended up taking a walk for a few hours in the frigid forest with his dogs, trying to clear his mind. It didn’t help, merely leaving him frustrated, cold, and feeling somehow more lonely than usual. He retired to bed with thoughts still swarming around his head. He locked up the house in a slight daze, had two fingers of whiskey, and closed the curtains to stop the bright shine of the moon from intruding on his sleep.
And then, just as fretfully, he slept.
When his dreams began, he was in a forest, walking in the shadows of pines and oaks cast by the moon above. He was clutching a knife, his senses were alert, and he knew he was not the only creature in these woods—but he did not know whether he was hunting it, or being hunted himself.
Frost bit at his skin, prickling over every inch of flesh. Fallen leaves crackled under bare feet, and then he heard an echo.
He turned sharply. The shadows rustled with the wind, but he saw nothing distinct.
Then a flicker of light caught his eye. Distant and surprisingly warm in the cold cyan and emerald of the dark forest. He followed it until he could see it was a fire, sinking ever lower in the chill wind, and ringed with blackened stones.
He heard a crack behind him and spun to face it. This time, it revealed itself. A tall, jet-black figure emerging from shadows. Its form was almost human, but emaciated, as if made from bone and branches rather than flesh. Profusely pointed antlers jutted from its bare scalp, and as it stepped into the firelight Will could see claws gleam at the end of long fingers.
I hunger.
The words were a whisper passing through the woods—Will did not see the creature’s mouth move at all. But he still felt certain it was what spoke.
“What do you hunger for?”
It circled the fire and looked up, reaching to grab something above it that was concealed by branches. It pulled down a hand by the wrist, and for a moment Will thought there must be a person in the tree—but then the bloodied joint of the elbow came into view, and he realized it was only an arm.
An offering.
It smiled, and an abundance of jagged white teeth came into view, each one sharp and pointed like a shark’s.
Will took a step back, his body slammed with adrenaline from some base animal reflex. But the creature made no move toward him. Instead, it took a bite from the arm it held. Blood ran from the new wound as swiftly as if the arm had still been attached to someone.
The fire burnt low, and the creature stepped forward, slowly crouching before laying the arm over the coals. Flames rose quickly, devouring the flesh, and the creature looked up from behind them and stared straight at Will before stepping into the flames. The fire burst open so bright that Will had to cover his eyes. When he looked again, the fire had died away but the creature was standing in the middle of the firepit, seeming to burn from within. Flames licked around its limbs and spilled from its mouth. Its eyes were burning embers.
Feed me.
Will woke feeling like he was burning from within. His sheets were soaked through with sweat, and he kicked them off, breathing heavily. It was still dark outside, and his bedside clock read 2:40 AM.
He rolled over and off the bed. Ruined sheets aside, he was troubled. Nightmares weren’t unusual for him, but this one was different. The shadows of his mind didn’t speak, they only showed—death and violence, usually, not strange creatures and forests.
And it was hard to know, exactly, in the dim landscape of the dream woods, when lit by eerie moonlight and flickering flames. But this creature… this creature, he was fairly sure, was wearing Hannibal’s face.
An offering, it had said. An offering of flesh.
It made sense, actually. Courtship nowadays usually involved gifts of fine clothes, trinkets, sweets. Things that indicated prosperity and attentiveness. But in the old, old days—the same old days in which it was somewhat more common for omegas to kill suitors, and considerably more common for them to eat those suitors if they did—it was also common for alphas to kill other alphas and bring their bodies to the omega they were courting. To prove their worth as hunters. It wasn’t legal to do that anymore, unless two competing alphas agreed to a fight or someone was accidentally injured during a rut. But Hannibal, he was certain, wanted his mate to be a hunter. His equal. Someone with the same taste for blood. He would want to be courted with such a gift.
Will changed out of his sweaty pajamas and pulled on a pair of jeans and a flannel. He would think better outside in the fresh air. He reached to unlatch the door and paused for a moment when he saw it was already unlatched. Had he been so worked up this evening that he’d forgotten? He gave a cursory look around the room, but he knew if a stranger had gotten into the house, the dogs would have become agitated. As it was, any dogs who had been disturbed by his nightmare-induced restlessness were now falling back asleep.
He shrugged it off, poured himself another whiskey since he was clearly more of a mess than he thought, and went out onto the porch to contemplate murder.
It wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought about before, honestly. He knew there was a part of him that was never entirely detached from the murders he investigated—a part that carried that bloodlust into his everyday life, a quiet hum that faded into the background but was never gone completely. The shadow that Hannibal had coaxed into the light, and that Will was now going to show him clearly. There was a big difference between idle daydreams and premeditated murder, but it was a gap Will was going to have to bridge.
***
Two weeks later he was slicing someone clean down the front and contemplating the fact that it really hadn’t been too difficult to go from imagining murder to actually carrying it out. The main challenge was the logistics—emotionally, on the other hand, he had been well prepared by his fantasies. He was aware that he might have some concerns after the fact, but there was no space for second guessing when he was swimming in adrenaline and digging his hands into the body, still steaming hot, to pluck out the organs and place them in an ice-packed cooler. He knew of Hannibal’s fondness for organ meat, even outside of heat-induced cannibalism. This would be a whole gift basket for him.
Will wasn’t sure he would go ahead with his plans to further mutilate the body until he was finished emptying it of all its choice organs. Then it was just a sad shell, not worthy of its significance in their courtship. He needed to elevate it—make it shine as brightly as his feelings for Hannibal.
When he was done, the body was hung from a tree by its wrists, less desirable organs laid at its feet. The flaps of skin that once covered his torso were now pinned back like butterfly wings, displaying the emptiness of his gut and the white arcs of his ribcage. It hung with arms spread horizontally and head tipped back—a submissive posture, all the more notable because the body was nude and anyone who saw it could tell it was an alpha.
Looking at it, he knew how Hannibal would read the scene. It was split between elements that indicated the motivation of dominance between alphas, and the more cerebral, premeditated nature of the display. Hannibal would see it for what it was—an offering, as if to a god.
Will took the necessary precautions for anonymity and contacted Freddie Lounds, wanting to make sure photographs were posted online before the police could intervene.
Then he waited. Freddie must have been in the area, because it was only a few hours before “Breaking News” appeared on Tattlecrime.com. But it was still late now, and he wondered about the wisdom of trying to pay Hannibal a visit now rather than waiting until morning. It might seem rude to intrude on him so late.
Ultimately, he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Better to give him his gift while it was still nice and fresh, anyway.
***
The lights were on when he pulled up to Hannibal’s house with the cooler full of organs. He rang the bell and waited, his heart thumping in his chest and hands gripped tight around the gift. It was several moments before Hannibal answered—long enough that Will was starting to worry he wouldn’t answer at all. He was wrapped in a black robe when he opened the door, but he didn’t have a hair out of place—nothing to suggest he might have been in bed when Will arrived, which made him feel slightly better.
“Will. I hadn’t been expecting you.” Hannibal’s eyes scanned over him. “Is everything all right? You look anxious.”
He swallowed, and tried to still his twitching fingers. “I’m fine. Sorry, I should’ve called ahead, but I have something for you. And I needed to give it to you in person.”
“Before morning.” He sounded skeptical.
“Yes. While it’s still fresh.”
His eyebrows raised. “You’re making me very curious. Please, do come in.”
Will entered, the door clicking behind him. Then he felt Hannibal at his back, hands ghosting over his shoulders. A shiver ran down his spine.
“May I take your coat?”
Will nodded, though flushed, and slipped his arms out one at a time. He opened his mouth to say “thank you,” but what he actually said was: “That’s new.”
And immediately cringed. But it was strange to have Hannibal suddenly taking his coat when he had never done so before.
“So is you bringing me a gift.” Hannibal hung his jacket with far more care than the cheap thing deserved, then turned to Will. He looked… not hostile, exactly. But calculating.
“I wanted…” Will took a deep breath. He’d just killed someone. In comparison, this conversation should be easy. “I’ve been thinking about it, but I wasn’t sure how to go about this until recently.”
Hannibal took a step closer, scrutinizing his face. “Say what you mean, Will.”
“It’s a courtship gift.”
Hannibal took this in—not surprised, simply thoughtful. His head tilted and his eyes rested on the cooler. “Brave of you to approach me so directly after seeing what I did to the last alpha who did so.”
“During your heat, to be fair.”
“Do you think that was the deciding factor in his fate?”
Will’s eyes flickered away and he shook his head in a jerky, tentative motion.
“Very perceptive of you. Maybe not very wise, however.”
Will set his jaw. “I wasn’t dissuaded by what you did to him. I should have been, I admit, but I wasn’t.”
He took another step toward Will, chin raised regally and eyes fixed on his. Pleased, but unyielding. “What, then?”
“I was…” He tucked his chin in, looking at what he held. “Enraptured, is the best word for it, I think.”
“You felt attraction?”
“I felt awe.” Will’s voice was more fierce than he expected it to sound, and his eyes lifted to meet Hannibal’s. “I saw something… untamed. Unrestrained by petty concepts of morality or polite behavior, by all the trappings of civilization. I saw… I saw something with a hunger. And I came here tonight to show you what I saw. To try to show you that I’m worthy of it.”
“And you think you will fare better than him?”
Will forced himself to hold eye contact and not shrink from the intensity of his gaze. In the dim foyer, his eyes looked almost black.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that he did not appreciate the side of you that he encountered that day. He wasn’t worthy of it. I want the chance to prove that I am.”
“A dangerous undertaking.” He took a few steps toward Will. “I like you very much, Will, and I’m willing to give you the opportunity. But I must warn you that my standards are very high, and I am loathe to compromise. And my instincts to challenge alphas through violence are considerably stronger than my instincts to mate with them.”
He nodded. He expected as much. “I accept the risk.”
Will presented Hannibal with his gift in the kitchen, setting it on the counter.
When Hannibal's hands carefully unlatched and opened it, there was a moment when both he and Will stopped breathing. Will watched as his eyes fell shut and his nostrils flared. He would be able to tell, surely. The smell was distinct. He would know this was human.
And when Hannibal opened his eyes, attention fixed on the organs nested in ice, uncharacteristically quiet, Will was certain of it. His eyes indulged themselves, taking every detail.
“A rare bouquet,” Hannibal said softly, lifting his eyes to Will’s. “Very bold.”
Will could hear his heart thumping loudly. “Not too bold, I hope.”
“Certainly not.” Will released a long breath, relieved. Hannibal reached into the cooler and pulled out a kidney, turning it over in his hand. “A nice specimen. Healthy, mature.” He did the same with the liver, giving a hum of approval. “All from the same source?”
“Yes.”
“And you slaughtered this animal yourself?” He met Will’s eyes, probing. Allowing him no distance.
“I did.” He swallowed, his throat feeling too tight. “And I left… left something more for you. I wanted it to be special.”
“More special than this?”
He nodded. “More meaningful than just organs in isolation. The body…” He faltered and bit his lip, hesitant to move the conversation out of the shelter of subtext. “I displayed it. And I sent Freddie Lounds to find it so you could see.”
Hannibal must have been staying on top of the news updates, because Will could see the moment the connection clicked in his mind. His eyelids lowered as he regarded Will, gaze roaming over him as if imagining him flaying the body, emptying it, presenting the body to him. An undisguised current of pleasure. He wet his lips, and Will’s eyes zoomed in on the movement. He was sure he could read attraction in the tension of Hannibal’s body. But when Hannibal spoke, his voice was still quite calm.
“How did you feel when you killed him?”
Will smiled slightly, though the thought was not entirely comfortable. “Powerful.”
“Victorious?”
“Yes. But more than that. There was something deeper inside me that was clamoring to get out—and when I killed him, it did, for a short while.”
“I take it this ‘something’ has been brewing for a while?”
Will’s eyes fell to the wet organ in Hannibal’s hand. “It’s a part of me. Buried, like these organs were. In my case, I think you were the one who pulled it out into the open.”
“We keep many things buried in ourselves besides organs. Hopes and fears, parts of selves, and ancient instincts that we declare inappropriate for the modern day. It does not mean they cannot rise and fall to the surface of their own volition, or buoyed by forces outside our control.”
“So what rises to the surface when you enter heat? If that's not too personal a question.”
Hannibal fixed him with a long stare, but when Will lowered his eyes nervously, he said, “You have seen the end result; it is not an unreasonable question. But I want that to be something that you determine for yourself.”
Hannibal began the process of wrapping and transferring the organs from cooler to fridge, while Will watched.
“Do you imagine yourself an apex predator, Will?”
He tilted his head. It was a strange question. “Alphas are conditioned to believe we are, at least to the same extent as omegas. But we’re not the ones with a tendency to eat our mates.”
“An uncommon tendency, nowadays.”
“Still. Why do you ask?”
“I just want you to be observant about what you are feeding, and how.”
Will’s brow furrowed. “I’m very aware of how I’m feeding you.”
“Are you?” Hannibal looked intently at him.
“Murder isn’t something I undertook lightly.”
“Of course not. Which is precisely my point. You are giving more than just a stranger’s organs, and feeding more than just my stomach. You are feeding something inside yourself at the same time as you feed something inside me, and you feed the connection between the two of us that is now burgeoning, though to what extent is yet unclear.”
Hannibal set the last of the organs in the fridge and closed the door. Will looked at him, still struggling to understand his exact meaning, but with some understanding dawning. “I’m giving fuel to shadows,” he said quietly. “Feeding them with my own.”
Hannibal nodded. “Not a bad way to phrase it. Shadows bleed into other shadows and create new and grander forms. They shift as the day or night progresses. They can be a comfort or a danger. They can be predicted base on the movement of light, but they cannot be contained.”
“If that's the case, what will your shadow do when it is fed?”
Hannibal contemplated Will very carefully. “I do believe it would like to consume you whole. Bones and all.”
Will almost laughed, but this uncannily apropos statement just pulled air from his lungs in a shaky exhale. “I don’t know what that actually means in this context.”
“I think you do.”
He paused to think, but shook his head slightly. “I’m grasping for a hold on it.”
“Then I’ll make sure I lead you to understand it. After all, a courtship must have gestures from both sides to be successful.” He closed the cooler with a click. “Best to go home now, Will. I expect Jack Crawford will want you to consult on your crime in the morning, if not sooner.”
When he led Will to the front door and helped him into his coat, his hands lingered on his shoulders.
“Thank you for the gift, Will,” he murmured.
Will turned to find Hannibal’s face much closer than he expected. He stopped breathing, but before he could think of the appropriate next move, Hannibal drew back and lifted Will’s hand, setting a kiss on the back of it.
Will swallowed. “My pleasure.”
And he knew, watching the shift in Hannibal’s regard of him so there was less of that gauze-like cover and more of the fierce, pleased creature beneath—feeling them drawing that much closer together, this bloodied gift held between them in secret—that he truly meant it.