He didn't understand.

He didn't understand why his pack looked down at him, staring through fearful eyes.

He didn't understand why they backed away when he sat up from his catch.

He didn't understand why Soft began to scream-cry.

He didn't understand why Alpha suddenly pointed a loud-bang at him.

He didn't understand.

What had he done wrong?

•••

The Hunter stared down the gun's barrel, blinking several times. Then his gaze met the redhead's, and an innocent curiosity shone in them. His pale face was open, lacking any fake masks humans wear. His emotions and intentions were laid bare.

He truly didn't understand. And that is what scared the woman the most.

He was a strong creature, able to leap from the ground onto a roof in one go, and decapitate something with little resistance. He was intelligent, too. Dangerously so. He was a predator.

And yet, here he was, confusion written all over his face. A curious, child-like confusion.

But the coating of blood on his face made it seem horrific.

Fresh, bright blood was smeared all over his face, especially around the mouth. As she watched, Alpha saw a few droplets fall from the unrecognizable chunk of meat in his jaw trailing down his chin.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

The group had been out, searching for supplies. They'd left the Hunter here, much to his annoyance, and gone on their way. They'd been out two- or three hours, tops.

And somehow, someway, they'd stumbled across another survivor.

He was nice enough, but one learns to fend for themselves when life becomes hell. He'd snuck some of their cans when they weren't looking and disappeared.

They took forever in trying to find other supplies, but it seemed in vain. Finding the man was out of the question, since he had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Upon their return, they'd found the safehouse unchanged. The manor-like building they'd fortified showed no signs of intrusion. 'Was the door left unlocked, though? Must have forgot.'

Yet, when they opened the door, they found the man. There was no doubt it was him, what, with that notable birthmark under his left eye.

It was him.

Their Hunter companion had come across him too, apparently. Roanoke was called a "Hunter" for a reason.

The man laid beside Roanoke, his guts on full display from the opened stomach. His eyes were glazed from death, and his mouth hung open in a final scream.

With a lurch, Alpha recognized the mass in Yawp's jaws as a lung.

A throaty growl sounded from the zombie, concern now lacing the confusion. He made to step forward, but the woman shook her head, steadying herself against a wall.

The toddler of the group wailed louder at the movement, making Yawp flinch and whine before crouching down.

Too late, Alpha realized what he was doing. Within the blink of an eye, the Hunter was surging through the air and landing beside the group's teen.

Gray-eyes was too terrified to move, and she stood like a deer in the headlights as Roanoke got to his feet in front of her. Clawed hands reached for the screaming child. She went white as a ghost, pulling the kid to her chest in a death-grip.

Roanoke snarled threateningly. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Alpha knew the Hunter was simply being protective over the child, and that he would never risk his safety, but everything was too much.

Another snarl, this time louder, lower. His pale lips were drawn back, revealing his unnaturally sharp teeth. With the threat of mauling in front of her, Gray-eyes was forced to surrender the child.

The Hunter wasted no time in scooping him up. Grabbing the back of his shirt in his mouth, Roanoke returned to the body before dragging it closer the the makeshift "nest" he had in the livingroom.

The babe screamed more.

•••

Soft was crying. His pup was crying. He didn't like when his pup was upset.

Carefully, Yawp set the tyke down, curling around him in a protective manor. Purrs rumbled the Hunter's body as he pulled Soft closer.

This only seemed to worsen his mood.

With a whine, Yawp leaned back, checking over the kid. He didn't seem injured, nor did he smell sick... Was he hungry?

A sickening crack sounded as Yawp broke off a rib (still bloody and muscle-y) and set it in front of Soft.

"Food? Hunger?"

The screams subsided, but sobs still shook the pup. Yawp tried again to interest him in the food, pushing it closer with a claw, but to no avail.

He sighed. What was he going to do?

With a shake of his head, the Hunter pulled Soft into his side, somewhat curling around to keep him in place while he returned to his kill.

Teeth sunk into still-warm flesh, and Roanoke couldn't help but purr involuntarily. It had been so, so long since he had an actual kill. He loved his pack, sure, but they were the only prey-things around. They had their territory, and this male had trespassed.

And their territory was Roanoke's territory, and Roanoke would defend it 'til he died. Common Infected were like rodents in his eyes -- pests. They weren't really something you could completely chase out.

But others, he could. And he did. Even a Tank, on odd occasions. Why should this prey-thing be any different?

Soft tucked closer into his side, whimpers muffled by the blood-stained hoodie Roanoke wore.

The Hunter sighed again, shaking his head. Though the meat wouldn't be fresher than it was now, his pup came first. And if that meant waiting until he was asleep, then so be it.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that maybe his prey-thing pup didn't like the prey-thing he'd killed. Maybe that was what had him so upset. Maybe that's why his packmates were so terrified.

Roanoke's eyes scanned the three others, taking in their varying expressions.

"Should move kill." He muttered to himself.

Soft was soon scooped into the Hunter's jacket, and Yawp made quick work of moving the body to his "room" in the basement.

•••

The disgusting 'THUMP' of the still-limp body finally did it in for the redhead. Clutching her stomach, she vomited what little she had eaten.

Alpha watched in absolute sickness as the Hunter returned from the basement doorway, one arm slung to hold Soft, and leapt into the bloodied nest.

As he curled around the toddler, cooeing purrs issued from him, as though he was trying to lull Soft to sleep.

'Like a mother to her baby,' Alpha thought bitterly.

It only took a few minutes -surprisingly- for the two the pass out. Scar-throat and Gray-eyes were slow in moving to the couch, but they all somehow ended up there.

"What are we going to do with the body?" Gray-eyes, the blonde teen, asked.

Her silvery orbs darted over to the Hunter fearfully as she spoke. Alpha reached over and rubbed her knee comfortingly.

"We'll have to wait for him to... To eat it."

Scar-throat crinkled his nose in disgust, but nodded in agreement to Alpha's words.

"Yes. If we do anything with it, he'll go apeshit."

Roanoke grumbled sleepily, but didn't stir further.

For a long, long time, silence hung over them. To say they weren't fond of the Special Infected would be a lie; over the past few months, he'd become a close companion. He wasn't human, for damn sure, but he fit right in. And, from how he'd always acted, it was clear he felt the same way.

In those early days, when it was just the three of them, it'd been rough. Roanoke would have randomly spurts of primitiveness, and would cause hell for the humans.

When he disappeared for a few days, they'd grown worried for the young male. It turned to fear when he showed up, a sickly-looking toddler hanging from his jaws. They didn't know what was more shocking -- the fact he had a kid to begin with, or that he had taken his hoodie off and bundled it around the tyke in order to carry it like a kitten.

It was a battle, trying to find out just what he had done -- did he find the kid abandoned? Did he rescue it? Did he purposely kill the parent(s)?

When, at last, he'd take them to where he'd gotten the kid, they found their answers clear as day. A Tank had apparently found the child's tent, and he had been hidden inside the hollow of a tree-cave.

Having the toddler -which he had named "Soft"- calmed the Hunter down immensely. Since that day, there hadn't been any outbursts.

Didn't mean it made life easier.

Apparently, having a "pup" meant bringing home random kills and making massive nests in every room. And gods-forbid if you messed with any of it.

Alpha shook her head, leaning back into the soft couch. Her green-blue eyes watched the rise-and-fall of the resting beings' breaths.

"One of these days..." Scar began, voice hoarse.

Alpha sniffled, but nodded.

"One of these days, I'll have to put a bullet through his skull."