He wasn't worried about Octavius when she apparated them away. He was a good dog, and had learned that if he and Atlas got separated, he should just go back to the flat and wait outside the door for as long as it took. Atlas could never deny how lucky he was to have that dog.
Instead of being focused on leaving the dog in the middle of the Alley, Atlas was focused on what stood in front of him. It was Min. . . but it wasn't her at all. His breathing grew heavy as the realization of what had happened to her washed over him. The pale skin, the scarves, being out so late, hiding from the sunlight. . . and fangs. She had fangs.
Suddenly he dropped her arm, like it was fire against his skin, and he stumbled back. No. This wasn't happening. "Min," he breathed, his voice shaky. "What. . . no." He shook his head.
"NO!" he bellowed then, falling to the ground. This couldn't happen. She couldn't be a vampire. She was too good for that. She didn't deserve a life as a monster. Shaking his head, he pressed a hand to his face. This wasn't right.