Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shadow Milk was no stranger to anything abnormal.

By now, he’s seen it all.

Dryads.

Ghouls.

Wendigos.

Werewolves…

Nothing surprised him much anymore. With all the interesting stuff out of the way, there was nothing left for him to learn about.

Now he has learned about such creatures, but he hasn’t necessarily seen all of them. Some still remain unknown to him. Which was the interesting part.

Something Shadow Milk knows is that many such beings could be hidden in plain sight.

He would know.

Considering he’s a Werewolf.

His claws torn easily through the fur of the smaller werewolf, the being letting out a sharp cry before falling limp onto the forest ground. It was nothing personal, and he doesn’t like killing those of his kind all too much, however the beast simply refused to listen and leave what area was his. A mindless brute, had to be immature.

Now truthfully, he’s lived a long while. Lifetimes even.

He was what the people have called, an apex. The original apex of his kind, more precisely.

Shadow Milk’s been referred to with many names, and many different titles. Even hearing his being worshipped in random circles. He was flattered, he really was.

One title stuck however. The Beasts.

Or however people through generations decided to call them. They had earned such a title because of how big they are, how powerful their energy is.

Laughable really. Him and his friends being referred to as such, like myth and legend. As if they didn’t still walk among them. 

It was to be expected, they were the original creatures, monsters.

And his beastly appearance only further contributed to the “good and bad omen” seeing him brought.

Padding over to the nearby stream he looks at his reflection, a scan over to check visually for any injuries. Spotting a sharp long cut down the side of his arm, even with how jagged and rough it looks, only a minor inconvenience for him.

His wolf is hulking, towering. A lupine form, in which he could choose to stand on four or two legs with jet-black fur and a thick, cloudlike white mane swirling with even more ghostly blue eyes. Its ethereal, unnatural. Unlike the common browns and black a werewolf would usually adorn.

His face is sharp with a black muzzle, jagged grin, and mismatched glowing cyan eyes, four of them—two brighter than the other. Icy blue markings trail across his snout and ears, echoing the sharp elegance of his usual form. His claws are long, curved like hooks able to tear through even the thickest of buildings, let alone flesh. He let himself slowly shift back.

By all means he was not the normal standard.

And he took much pride in that.

Shadow Milk had no interest in mundane things such as hierarchy, but he’d definitely place himself at the top if he did.

His transformations are not dictated on emotions or a full moon, he doesn’t succumb to simple instincts, he doesn’t even need to eat meat often to stay coherent.

With of course, the exception of the blood moon. Something no creature can fully escape from. He should start preparing for that, he’s put it off too long for how soon it will be.

Well, even in his nature, he was not feral, or acted monstrous. He seeks his own interests and entertainment, but he does not go on rampages like some immature werewolf. 

Sure, he will strike down a few unlucky wanderers if they get too near, but he doesn’t seek out first to kill. Though apparently something about him constantly draws unsuspecting people near, an annoyance, but also more entertainment for him.

One thing is that he doesn’t get so caught up on attachments.

But…

“Move! I want to tell him!” A high pitched rang out, the movement of bushes from the stream he had detransformed from rustling not too far from him. “Master Shadow Milk!”

“You barely even helped,” Black Sapphire grumbled, stepping out behind her with far more composure, brushing a leaf from his shoulder. His voice was low, unbothered, almost bored. “You screamed. Then you missed.”

“I distracted it,” Candy Apple snapped back. “That counts!”

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes and didn’t bother looking at either of them. “I heard you coming five minutes ago.”

“See!” Candy Apple beamed. “We meant for you to hear us! That’s strategy!”

“No,” Black Sapphire said flatly. “That’s just you being loud again.”

The two were always like this.

Shadow Milk turned away, heading up a slope scattered with pine needles. The younger werewolves flanked him instinctively, Candy Apple practically bouncing, Black Sapphire with his usual quiet glide. They didn’t ask where he was going. They just followed.

He didn’t bother telling them not to.

He had already tried.

Too many times to count.

They’d stumbled into his forest nearly a year ago now, clumsy, snapping twigs with every step, arguing over who had found the “big wolf’s” scent first. He had been half-transformed when they found him, mid-hunt, irritable, and not in the mood for chatter.

He suspected the two had wandered into his territory on the premise of the massive abundance of life and prey. Vegetation left unpicked, with the only goal to grow uncontrollable. Rabbits, deers, squirrels, all big and plump from feasting on the environment. The type of territory that would have any being salivating at the thought of having.

His large part of the forest thrived because he was the only absolute apex predator, a predator who doesn’t often need to eat, therefore; barely any hunters. It was still a proper ecosystem, but without any external force.

It was practically the equivalent of a mine filled with gold, a jackpot.

Any other creature would have been torn apart on sight.

But these two? They were barely past adolescence, all fluff and fangs and delusions of strength. Black Sapphire had tried to square up to him once. Just once. Shadow Milk had stared him down without a word until he tripped over his own claws backing away. They were strong, but not nearly strong enough for him to be the least bit worried.

Their wolf forms were similar. He would have to completely look down in his beast form to even see the two.

He figured they’d run after that.

Except they hadn’t. They returned the next day.

And the next.

And eventually, they started calling him “master.”

Which was absurd. He didn’t lead packs. He barely tolerated company. But they were persistent. They didn’t get in the way. They didn’t challenge him. They even stopped taking down his protective runes, after he made a very clear example out of the last time they did.

So he let them stay.

They weren’t threats. Not even close.

But occasionally… they were mildly amusing.

So he let them stay under his “protection.”

By all means they reminded him of small cubs, even despite their grown appearance. He would let them stay in his makeshifts dens when there was heavy rain, or move closer to him when it snowed. 

He would scare away any other creatures who challenged them from a far by stretching his scent far alone, and let them think it was them that scared them off.

If anyone were to ask, he does not care about them. 

“I say we build a watchtower,” Candy Apple chirped, skipping beside him. “Right up on the cliffs so we can spot intruders. I’ll decorate it with bones and string lights!”

“I’m not building anything,” Black Sapphire muttered. “Also, that’s a terrible use of bones.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t climb trees like I can.”

“I don’t need to climb. I plan.”

“You sulk.”

“I analyze.”

“You pout.”

“Still more useful than shrieking at squirrels.”

Shadow Milk stopped walking.

They both halted immediately, watching him with alert eyes.

He narrowed his gaze toward the distant edge of the trees, toward the faint scent trail he’d picked up earlier. Silver. Old blood. Herbs.

And… the faintest echo of something else.

Shadow Milk didn’t look at them, continuing his walk. He kept his eyes on the mist creeping over the forest floor, half-listening, already tuning them out. “Your voices are giving me a headache.”

“But Master!” Candy Apple skidded beside him, trying to match his longer stride. “It was a scout! Had something on him, I could have smelled it for miles. Black Sapphire thinks he was trying to find some rare fruit.”

“It was around the southern edge again,” Black Sapphire said coolly, walking on his other side. “The idiot didn’t even mask his trail.”

Not masking a trail? 

Either a young rookie mistake… or, deliberate.

Shadow Milk didn’t react at first. Not until a faint wind brushed his cheek, and with it, the scent.

Mix of something, Crushed mint. Wild thyme and burning wax. Human… no. Not human… He couldn’t tell, but it was strange. Like a library buried beneath dirt and ash.

Not a scout. Something different.

He came to a slow halt again, staring into the dense green ahead.

“Another traveler?” Candy Apple guessed, peeking up at him with that childish grin that never quite masked her sharp fangs. “Should we bring them to you?”

“No,” he said quietly.

He took in a deep breath. The scent was faint, almost ghostly, but threaded with something distinct. Not werewolf. Not hunter. Not prey.

His lip curled slightly.

Interesting.

He hadn’t had anything interesting in months.

Shadow Milk stretched, flexing his claws, retractable unlike some other werewolves. “Stay away from the cliffs. You’ve scared off enough prey for one day.”

“But Master,” Candy Apple whined, “we’ve already eaten. And there’s nothing fun to do here.”

Black Sapphire smirked. “I told you not to play with the raccoons.”

“They stole my traps!”

“I wonder why.”

Shadow Milk waved a hand dismissively, stepping off the path.

“Stay out of my way. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

“Can we come?” Candy Apple sang, skipping behind him.

“No.”

“Can we follow you anyway?”

Black Sapphire sighed. “She will.”

“I will!”

He didn’t bother turning around. “Disrupt anything, and I will bury you both in salt.” He waved his hand. “Watch the territory, if anyone comes shoo them anyway. If anything else, just howl. I’ll be able to hear.”

“Understood, Master!” Candy Apple chirped.

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes and vanished into the trees.

Now he has to get to the bottom of this mess.

He pushes branches and twigs out of his face, his feet light on the forest floor; never making a single sound or crunch of a dried leaf.

He kept sniffing the air, following the small trail of whatever it was that had wandered into his region. Whatever—whoever—it was hadn’t wandered very far, an immediate ruling out that it wasn’t a werewolf.

Werewolf’s, usually, are quite cocky and weak minded when it comes to juicy prey.  Something his region was full of, and more.

The scent he’s picking up on implies the being entered into his region, stopped while walking, then turned around.

How… unusual.

For some reason he simply couldn’t pinpoint what exactly the being was. It definitely wasn’t just a simple animal.

Definitely not a werewolf, didn’t act like it. Didn’t even smell like it.

Definitely not a regular human, they are too cowardly, but also smarter. They know when something is too good to be true, as well as the many stories and myths Shadow Milk has unintentionally birthed.

That and their smell is so disgustingly basic. Not the good kind.

This scent he was smelling was sweet in nature, he could almost say it was a pleasant aroma. Bit intoxicating. Something you would smell from a sweet plant like basil. 

Hm, he wouldn’t mind smelling it again.

It wasn’t just the basil-like sweetness that lingered in his nose, it was the balance of it. Refined. Intentional. Whoever it belonged to carried themselves with a grace he rarely saw outside the elder fae or old bloodlines of magical lineage. But it wasn’t fae, either.

He didn’t like the mystery of it. Or rather, he did. And that annoyed him.

Most creatures didn’t get to be mysterious around him.

Shadow Milk continued walking, no longer concealing his presence, whoever it was was long gone now. Whoever it was had moved on. And besides, the more creatures nearby that knew he was walking, the better, they wouldn’t follow.

Taking a longer sniff at the air he could pinpoint the direction of where the being went.

“Oh, how interesting,” he muttered to himself.

The boundary stone of his territory marked a low ridge of mossy rock and thickened bramble. He didn’t cross it. Not yet.

The trees beyond that point were taller. Hungrier.

The air was still, but not calm. It watched.

He frowned.

The being that had exited his forest left it and wandered into the next one over.

Hm.

What a stupid idea.

Shadow Milk’s territory was peaceful, but that was because he had extended his essence over the place, his energy, his scent. 

And it scared any original competitors off, the beasts running in the opposite direction of him.

Which led to some of them mainly running into the next forest over.

It was true, most of the real trouble had left after his arrival. His dominance didn’t leave much space for competition. Beasts either died or learned to stay low. But the neighboring forest still had activity. Bolder predators. The kinds that didn’t always think before they attacked.

For this reason, he knew there were more… mythical beasts over there. Not an ideal place to wander, unless someone were to know higher tier protective runes.

How unlucky, really; the only creatures on the more mythical scale that he would allow on his grounds are dryads.

And he was on this more particular day, in a better mood. And he liked this pleasant scent. Had they not taken or disrupted anything he would have let them wander briefly or pass through.

But then he started to think.

If this… sweet-scented stranger had walked in alone, without shields, without protective runes, without—

He paused. Just briefly.

A strange thought pricked at him.

What if they knew?

What if they had walked in on purpose, testing the edges of his territory, only to turn back before triggering a response?

And what if they’d left the trail behind not in fear…

…but as a lure?

He scoffed aloud.

No one was that clever. Not around him.

Still.

He lingered at the boundary, eyes narrowed at the deeper woods beyond. The scent trail was faint, but it was there. The forest swallowed it quickly, but he could follow it, if he chose to.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Something told him he’d be seeing them again.

And if they were stupid enough to return, he would have time to ask questions.

Or kill them.

Depending on the answers.

But truly, what a dangerous game to play. Especially with him.

Shadow Milk smirked, his bare feet tapping against the dirt trail of the pathway. He patted down his sleeveless bodysuit and baggy pants—clothes he had stolen once— for loose twigs while he stared. The only pathway separating the two forests. His forest looked nicer, inviting, deception in every way. While the other was darker, thicker leaves casting eerie shadows to the ground. It didn’t try to hide its nature, how dangerous it was.

Now Shadow Milk wasn’t scared of the creatures that lurk across in the forest, but he has to prepare for the upcoming blood moon in three days.

He sighed.

It was rare for Shadow Milk to be caught out of the forest. Yes, he does go into the nearby town and marketplace in disguise as a human simply out of boredom, but onto the trail? He never walked across it.

How bothersome

This had been a waste of time. A fluke.

He turned around, ready to go back the way he came; the interest that had started to build up in him earlier was already dimming down.

Then:

Rustle

He paused.

…

Nothing.

Nothing?

Shadow Milk turned his head slightly, an eyebrow raised.

No creature would dare.

Okay, well. He’s in his element anyway.

He growled low, deep, a type of echoey bellow that would send predators and prey scattering alike. The type that didn’t demand submission but was instead a warning, a clear sign that practically screamed “how do you want to play this?”

Technically, Shadow Milk in no means wanted to fight, it would be pointless, a waste of energy over nothing. The stranger had left with barely any track, there was no reason for him to fight. 

But one thing Shadow Milk was, was prideful.

He sniffed the air, that sweet pleasant smell was faint, weaker. It was clear, nobody was still there.

Shadow Milk usually didn’t let himself indulge in half-transformations. Not when the sun was out, it conflicted with his senses too much.

But, for this, he allowed his ears to form up on his head. Up right, pointed, and soft. He paused and adjusted for any more sound. Just in case.

Silence.

Until—

A howl, high pitched and familiar.

His head immediately snapped back to his woods, his posture tense and listening.

Then, another howl. Lower pitched and heavier. Black Sapphire

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes dilated into slits. He needed to return, he couldn’t entertain whatever this was any further.

So much for idle curiosity.

Whatever that strange scent was, whatever creature had teased his senses with sugar-sweet aroma and dared to linger near his border, would have to wait.

There was an intruder.

Another werewolf. Had to be.

Of course.

With the Blood Moon creeping closer, the pull became harder to resist for the lesser ones. They always came crawling, drawn like moths to his flame. His territory, rich with prey and protected by power, stood out like a beacon to the desperate and the foolish. The blood moon only made them much more of an annoyance.

They never lasted long.

Shadow Milk turned, ears flattening back. His stride was effortless, a silent glide across roots and stone, every leaf beneath him untouched. The trees bent slightly in his wake, recognizing his urgency.

Another intrusion.

Another waste of his time.

Still, his lips curled. Not quite a smile, something hungrier. If they were stupid enough to come here during his preparations, then they deserved what was coming to them.

He just hoped they’d at least be more entertaining than the last.

The deeper he moved into his forest, the quieter it became.

Even the birds knew better than to sing.

Shadow Milk’s eyes glowed faint in the dappled sunlight cutting through the trees, slitted like twin blades. He didn’t slow. His body stretched and bent with fluid ease as his bones began to shift beneath his skin, shoulders rolling, spine lengthening, hands flexing into claws.

His steps no longer padded but thudded, heavier and heavier.

Muscles coiled under his skin like serpents, and his form began to swell.

Graceful.

It always was. Transformation was not something Shadow Milk fumbled through, there was no snarling, no screaming, no ragged breaking of bone. It was as smooth and silent as breath. As natural as waking.

His hands hit the forest floor, fingers no longer fingers but curved and clawed, digging into the dirt. His legs restructured behind him, joints popping into place as he shifted forward onto all fours. A low snarl rumbled in his chest, not from anger, not yet. Merely anticipation.

The scent of blood kissed his nose. Fresh. Not Candy Apple’s. Not Black Sapphire’s. Not theirs yet.

He picked up speed.

He was a blur now, slipping through the trees like shadow and wind. Then the sounds came into focus, growling, yelling, the sharp yelp of Candy Apple’s voice, and Black Sapphire shouting something guttural and sharp.

They were fighting.

And losing.

Shadow Milk burst into the clearing.

The intruder didn’t even hear him.

Candy Apple tumbled away across the forest floor, breathless, ears slicked back. Black Sapphire stood bracing himself with one arm bleeding, fangs bared, ready to jump again. The werewolf—the intruder—was panting, foam at his mouth, clearly past reason.

Until he wasn’t.

The moment Shadow Milk entered, the moment that presence hit the air like a thunderclap, the intruder froze.

His bloodlust drained. Replaced by one thing:

Terror.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire didn’t wait. The moment they saw their master, they scrambled out of the way, Candy Apple diving behind a log, Black Sapphire yanking her with him.

The intruder turned, ears flat, tail between legs, backing up fast. His body hunched low in pathetic submission. A whimper escaped his throat.

Shadow Milk didn’t stop.

He didn’t growl. He didn’t roar. He just moved.

Fast.

The werewolf tried to speak, tried to lower himself to the ground, head down, paws splayed in surrender.

But it was far, far too late.

Shadow Milk struck like a blade drawn in silence.

One leap, and he was on him.

Claws sank deep. Bone cracked. The clearing echoed with a wet, gurgled scream before it was cut short by teeth closing around a throat.

It wasn’t a fight. Hardly.

It was a demonstration.

When it was over, Shadow Milk stood in the mess of it, breath steady, eyes blank. Blood soaked the fur around his jaws, staining the dirt below in irregular pools.

He exhaled through his nose. Calm.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, voice deep and distorted by fang and form.

Behind him, Candy Apple peeked up, ears trembling. She was still transformed, tail tucked low.

Black Sapphire who had transformed back, stayed silent, arms crossed tightly, eyes sharp. They had seen this before. Many times. But even now, there was awe in their gaze.

Shadow Milk straightened, shaking blood from his mane like water.

“Next time,” he said dryly, “Don’t howl for me over a mutt that can’t even bite properly.”

Candy Apple gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, Master Shadow Milk…”

Shadow Milk looked down at himself, blood now coating his fur.

Disgusting, Shadow Milk was a being who preferred cleanliness over anything. Such a thing would warrant a trip to the stream. Again.

If he were to detransform now his clothes would be ruined.

Guess he was staying like this for the time being.

Something that confused him was why he needed to be called for such a werewolf, the being clearly just a mindless brute. Not something that needed his summoning.

“Why did you two howl for me, for this.” He pointed with his paw, calling out for the two to come out from where they were. 

Black Sapphire stood beside him first, gesturing for Candy Apple to follow. “There was more than one, Master. After the third one in a row, the last one got a jump on us.”

Shadow Milk blinked in surprise, he hadn’t even been that long.

The upcoming blood moon is making everyone bold, huh.

And more stupid.

Candy Apple jumped in, shifting back into her usual form, however; her ears and tail had stayed, wagging on to her emotions.

“Yeah! We would have handled it fine had we not been caught off guard.” Candy Apple shot a look at the corpse of the werewolf on the ground. “There won’t be a next time.” She beamed.

He forgot, sometimes, just how strong they were on their own, how deadly they could be when not standing in his shadow. Being near him so often dulled comparison. But up against anyone else? They were devastating.

He let out an amused huff, an exhale.

Not bad, not bad at all. Maybe he won’t even have to worry much about the blood moon.

He leaned down to their level in one slow movement, lowering his massive head until his muzzle almost knocked them both off their feet. Candy Apple squeaked in surprise, stumbling back with a laugh, while Black Sapphire stood still, head bowed respectfully.

Shadow Milk sniffed them once, slowly, breath grazing over their wounds and skin. No scent of rot. No poison. Nothing fatal.

Still, he muttered something under his breath, a spell wrapped in low growls, old and clipped. A soft shimmer pulsed over their skin.

Healing. Just a bit. Their werewolf healing will do the rest easily.

He pulled back, rising to his full, towering height again.

“I won’t always come running,” he said coolly. “Next time, kill them before I even notice.”

Candy Apple saluted with a grin. “Yes, Master!”

Black Sapphire nodded, a quiet “Understood.”

Shadow Milk turned toward the trees again, sniffing faintly. The faint sweet scent lingered, too distant now to follow, but not forgotten.

“Hmph.”

He needed that stream.

But he also needed to think.

He shook his fur once, his footsteps heavy and careless while he walked.

“Oh Master Shadow Milk! I can clean you instead so you don’t have to go!” Candy Apple shouted after him.

Ugh.

Shadow Milk didn’t bother turning his head. His ear flicked once in exasperation.

“I’d rather roll in corpse rot,” he muttered, voice dripping with utter disdain.

The stream ran slow, wide, and clear, stretching like a silver ribbon along the border between two worlds. One side veiled in verdant charm, bright and humming with deceptive peace, the other brooding, honest in its danger. The sun had begun to bow behind the treetops, draping both woods in deepening hues of gold and violet.

From the trees of his own forest, Shadow Milk stepped into the open with hardly a sound, blood painting his fur in gruesome streaks that matted against muscle and bone. He hated it. Every drop of it. The smell, the feel, the way it clung like a second skin. Disgusting.

His massive paws met the water first, dampening in the silt before touching the water. It was cool. Cold, even. Good. 

He stepped in fully, slowly, until the water reached up his limbs and rippled around his hunched figure. His sleek, powerful form sank lower and lower, fur haloing around him as he moved with practiced grace.

Then he dipped beneath.

Bubbles broke the surface in his place. He lingered under for several seconds, fully submerged, limbs still. Just shadows beneath glass. When he rose, he did so like something born of the dusk itself, his soaked form sleek and imposing, reflecting light as if every drop clung to him in reverence.

He sighed—actually sighed—as he sat back in the stream, letting the current wash the rest away. It felt nice. He even leaned down to drink from it, tongue flicking the surface, careful not to disturb it more than necessary. Peaceful. Almost still.

And then—

Eyes.

Shadow Milk’s ears perked immediately, snapping toward the edge of the stream. Not a full alert, but a twitch of tension laced into his spine.

Not Candy Apple. Not Black Sapphire. He would’ve known, he always knew. Their scents were embedded into the trees like moss and bark.

But this… this was unfamiliar. Not hostile. Not bold. Just… watching.

His eyes narrowed into slits, glowing faintly as he turned his head, once, lazily; scanning the brush across the stream. Nothing moved. No shift of leaves. No careless breath.

But he knew someone was there. He could feel them.

His scowl deepened.

Yet he was clean now. The stench was gone. The blood washed from his coat and from his claws. Whoever had dared to watch would find no weakness. Just a dripping, towering silhouette now disappearing into the trees again, vanishing as suddenly as he had come.

He darted into the bushes and back into his forest, soundless once more.

How annoying.

At least he could transform back.

two days.

two days until the blood moon.

And gods, he always hated the days leading up to the blood moon.

The dramatics of it were wildly exaggerated. The moon didn’t bleed in the sky like some theatrical omen; it dulled to a low, burnt orange at best. And yet it was enough. Enough to set everything teetering just a little closer to the edge.

It merely makes beings more likely to give into their heightened instincts, it makes them more impulsive, more emotional, the list can go on.

Shadow Milk isn’t entirely immune himself. He was just… better at ignoring it.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire—thankfully—were too, there were many reasons he had let them stay, but this was high on the list. He didn’t have time to babysit two snarling, frothing, crazed pups for a week straight.

And while he was used to dealing with other werewolves the most, he would have to deal with everyone during a blood moon.

But that was the least of issues.

He still had to keep everyone else, out.

Which meant, making it more obvious he was here. Even a creature drunk on the moon's energy still would know not to trespass on his grounds, if they were still smart enough at least.

So,

It meant he had to appeal to instincts.

Which also meant…

Rubbing himself up on large rocks and trees in his wolf form like some oversized lesser beast in heat.

It was humiliating.

Completely and utterly humiliating.

Suddenly he was thankful for how empty his territory was. He would kill if anyone saw him like this.

“Ugh…” he grumbled, he had switched to walking on his hind legs instead, intentionally dragging his tail in the grass; further spreading his scent. The creatures nowadays were getting bolder and bolder, a shame he couldn’t rely on his natural scent output only anymore. At least, not for blood moons.

This used to be so much easier. Creatures back then respected boundaries and territories. Maybe they were just less stupid back then…

He winced, seeing the cut on his arm he had gotten that day of fighting that werewolf. It was having a hard time healing, Shadow Milk had glossed over it.

Just his luck. His healing factors were acting out as well.

Not uncommon, he’d just have to be more careful. The wound will fix itself quickly the moment the blood moon begins.

He drops back onto all fours, transforming back into his more human form. Shaking and stretching his body once.

Having now gone over the edges of his territory twice, hunted food for the other two younger ones, and scared off three creatures who lingered near more towards the south; he had done all that needed to be done today. Having spread enough scent markers to have even the dumbest mutt hesitate.

Frankly, he was a bit tired. Which is surprising, since he rarely ever gets tired to this point.

But, curiosity was getting to him, again.

He could venture into the opposite forest.

After all, Candy Apple and Black Sapphire could more than handle things in his absence. They’d been subtly feeding on his external aura for over a year now, he had let them. Trickle feeding. Enough to heighten their strength and senses, without dependence.

He paused at the pathway, the makeshift divider between both worlds.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire already know he sometimes likes to disappear without warning, something he does often.

He could.

Shadow Milk hesitated at the pathway, the invisible line that separated his woods from the other. The stream ran just beside him, soft and flowing, its waters now faintly silver under the rising night.

He stood still. Considering.

This was stupid.

He was above this.

Curiosity was for the weak-minded, the reckless, the young.

And yet.

With a quiet snort, he crossed.

The ground changed under his steps, almost imperceptibly, softer earth, more moss, less structure. He moved forward with no real care, shoulders rolled back, posture relaxed but alert. His claws clicked softly against the occasional root or stone, hair still damp at the edges from the stream earlier.

It was darker here.

He hadn’t realized how low the sun had dipped until now, his day having blurred by in errands and instinct.

But no matter. He didn’t fear the dark. He was the dark, to most.

The forest was still. Too still.

He strained his ears, then paused. Something felt… off.

Not dangerous, no. But odd.

The silence pressed in close. Not even the wind stirred the leaves.

He kept walking. Calmly.

A pair of red eyes flashed in the distance, some lowly beast thinking itself brave. He turned toward it, narrowed his own glowing mismatched eyes, and let out a single, low, guttural growl.

It fled immediately.

Hmph.

That happened two more times. Shadow Milk didn’t even slow his pace. They knew better.

He went deeper still. Past the denser brush, into the older trees, the parts of this forest few dared tread. And truly… there was nothing much to see.

Whoever had been watching him at the stream was likely long gone.

And it was the blood moon, after all. Why would some weak random that was clearly smart enough for rational thought lurk around when the veil between instinct and action grew thinner with each hour?

They’d be suicidal to stick around.

He was already turning back when he froze.

There it was.

The scent.

That same sweet, soft, delicate scent.

Closer this time. Much closer.

His head whipped to the side, then the other. His ears listening, and he stepped forward without thinking, claws grazing bark as he reached out toward the air, trying to track it.

It danced. Taunted. Drew him in like mist.

And then, it vanished.

Just… gone.

Like it had never been there. Or like someone had hidden it, deliberately.

It’s toying with him.

He scowled, leg tapping once in visible irritation.

“Great,” he muttered, low and sharp, “wasting my damn time. Whatever.”

Shadow Milk was above this anyway, whatever had interested him prior didn’t even deserve a fraction of his attention. He’s leaving, whatever lurked around here can rot for all he cares.

He turned back with a huff, stepping toward the path—

—but stopped.

Something shifted behind him.

The air hummed.

And he turned, eyes narrowed—

Only to see a figure.

Just standing there. Calmly. Quietly.

His appearance was nothing like what Shadow Milk expected from anything in these woods.

He wasn’t a beast. Not a hunter. Not corrupted. Not armed. Not cloaked in warding charms.

He looked…

Human.

Too human.

Golden robes, soft glowing hair, and a presence that was… gentle. Which annoyed him, instantly.

“What,” Shadow Milk said, brow lifting slowly, “are you supposed to be?”

He didn’t growl. Didn’t lash out. Not yet.

Because the man just stood there, watching him with an unreadable look. Not frightened. Not posturing.

Shadow Milk could smell nothing on him. No fear. No aggression. No deception.

And that—

That was a first.

“You’re hurt,” came a voice, calm and even.

Shadow Milk’s ears twitched, really, he was half-expecting some daring fae or bold hunter.

But a human? Here?

Strange.

Shadow Milk raised an eyebrow. “Am I?” he asked coolly.

The man nodded toward his arm. “That cut. It’s deep.”

Shadow Milk looked down. The wound from the werewolf hadn’t fully sealed. It should’ve by now, his body usually repaired faster than this. He hadn’t even noticed it was still bleeding. A minor annoyance.

“It’ll close soon enough,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” the man said. “But not cleanly. It looks inflamed. I’m a healer, I can tend to it.”

Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes, faintly suspicious. “You make a habit of offering strangers help in the middle of monster-infested woods?”

The man smiled, a little sheepish, but steady. “Only the ones who look like they could use it.”

Shadow Milk scoffed under his breath, shifting his weight. “Right. And I’m supposed to just follow you back to your little hut like I’m lost?” He tilted his head, watching for any sign of deception. “You sure you’re not luring me in? Hoping I pass out from fever so you can sell my bones to the witches?”

The man laughed, unexpectedly soft and genuine. “No. I’d never. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just… don’t like seeing others hurt.”

Shadow Milk stared at him, silent for a long moment. Something about him was unsettlingly normal. No claws beneath his sleeves. No strange shadows behind his eyes. His scent wasn’t that of a wolf, or a spirit, or anything Shadow Milk recognized.

He wasn’t a fae. Not a werewolf. Not a hunter, either. No silver, no blades. No lies on his breath.

Just… something else.

Something odd.

And it intrigued him.

Shadow Milk instinctively shifted his arm behind him. “Tch. Just a scratch. Some wild dog got lucky, that’s all.”

“It looks infected,” the stranger said softly, concern creeping into his tone.

Shadow Milk scoffed and stepped back. “I’ve got things to do. Two idiots back home probably chewed through the ceiling by now.”

“A wound like that will fester by morning,” the man said, frowning. “And the forest isn’t safe tonight. Especially not this side. It’s dangerous to go back bleeding.”

Shadow Milk looked him over once again, gaze narrowed and guarded.

“So… what,” he said slowly, “You want me to just come with you? Some stranger, inviting me back to his cozy little cottage in the middle of the evening, while it’s almost dark out?”

The man blinked, then flushed slightly, as if realizing how it sounded. “I—I didn’t mean— It’s just that—well—”

“Relax, I’m sure you mean well.” Shadow Milk snorted, rolling his eyes once. He wasn’t unsettled, merely weighing his options.

He looked the man one more time, this time more carefully. No fangs. No hidden claws. No scent of fur. Not a fae, no glamour tugging at the edges of perception. And not a werewolf either. He would know. They always recognized each other, masked or not.

This man was either actually a human, would be crazy stupid of him. Or, he was really good at what he does.

Either way, it was slightly impressive. 

“Alright. Lead the way then…”

Shadow Milk follows behind the stranger, his seemingly glowing aura around him a direct opposite to the beasts that lurked.

Speaking of beasts.

He glances to the right, a smaller hound following behind them, its eyes locked onto the stranger leading him down the path.

He subtly flashes his teeth, immediately scaring it off.

Never gets old.

“You got a name?” Shadow Milk asked lazily as they made their way through the tall grass and moss-laced stones, his hands tucked in his pants pockets, mismatched eyes sharp even in disguise.

The man glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Pure Vanilla.”

Shadow Milk snorted quietly. “Huh. Sounds like a dessert.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Pure Vanilla replied with a light laugh. “It’s better than sounding like a curse, I suppose.”

Shadow Milk chuckled once, then hummed, 

Alright, Pure Vanilla was definitely not a fae then, easily ruled out.

He paused, then added, “Shadow Milk.”

Pure Vanilla glanced at him, curious. “Is that your real name?”

“Close enough,” Shadow Milk said with a shrug. 

Despite being in myths and legends, Shadow Milk wasn’t all too concerned with giving his name. He was old, his name was likely already scrubbed from history.

Pure Vanilla didn’t pry, just nodded gently, guiding them along a winding path half-concealed by trees. Shadow Milk could still smell that faintly sweet scent, always lingering around this one. It made him itch with curiosity.

“You carrying something sweet?” he asked.

Pure Vanilla looked at him quizzically. “Pardon?”

“You smell like basil and sugar. Herbs?” Shadow Milk clarified.

“Oh!” Pure Vanilla smiled. “Yes, I am. Some dried leaves. They seep well in tea.” He reached into his satchel and patted it lightly. “Lavender, lemon balm, some vanilla orchid. That might be what you’re smelling.”

“Hm,” Shadow Milk muttered. “You smell like a walking apothecary.”

“And you smell like rain-soaked stone,” Pure Vanilla said kindly. “Sharp, but not unpleasant.”

That made Shadow Milk blink once.

Eventually, they arrived.

The cottage was nestled between two old trees, vines climbing up the sides like painted ivy. Soft yellow light flickered from the curtained windows. Warm. Peaceful. Honestly a bit… cozy.

It was bigger than Shadow Milk expected. Not enormous, but roomy. Especially compared to the cold, hollow dens he had carved into the rocks and hills of his own domain.

Pure Vanilla pushed open the door and stepped aside to let him in.

Shadow Milk followed, but hesitated at the threshold, blinking slowly as the warm scent of tea, herbs, and aged wood hit him all at once.

He didn’t know where to go.

“Sit wherever you like,” Pure Vanilla offered as he moved to set his satchel down on a nearby table.

Shadow Milk nodded once, stepping inside fully. His eyes flicked from corner to corner. Shelves lined with books. Drying herbs above the hearth. A gently crackling fire. A desk near the window. No traps. Nothing strange. Just… a home.

He didn’t sit. Not yet. Instead, he wandered, trailing his gloved fingers across a bookshelf, peeking into a glass jar, even nudging a cushion on a bench like he wasn’t sure it was real.

It’s been a long while since he’s been inside an actual home.

He didn’t see Pure Vanilla watching him, quiet, thoughtful.

Eventually, Shadow Milk did sit, slumping lazily into a padded chair near the hearth.

Pure Vanilla came over with a warm bowl of water and a cloth, kneeling gently beside him. “Let me take a look.”

Shadow Milk grunted but let him. He was sleeveless, revealing the bruised and torn skin beneath.

“You’re lucky,” Pure Vanilla murmured. “It didn’t go deeper.”

“I’ve had worse,” Shadow Milk replied. “Comes with the woods.”

Pure Vanilla dabbed gently, his touch feather-light but practiced. “What brings you out here, if I may ask? These woods aren’t exactly known for being friendly.”

Shadow Milk’s eyes flicked toward the window. “Just passing through. Needed air. Got turned around.”

“Hm.” Pure Vanilla didn’t push. “I have protective wards around this place. They drive off most of the aggressive beasts. Some try to test them, but… they don’t linger long.”

“Must be strong magic,” Shadow Milk noted.

“It’s old,” Pure Vanilla said. “But effective.”

There was a quiet moment between them, filled with the soft crackling of firewood and the sound of cloth against skin.

“You know the blood moon’s in two days, right?” Pure Vanilla asked. “If you’re planning to stay in these woods, it might not be safe to wander. You’re welcome to stay here, if you’d like. Just until it passes.”

Shadow Milk’s ears twitched. He turned his head slightly to study him.

He didn’t like the idea. He never stayed in places like this. Warm and calm and domestic. It unsettled something in him.

And yet…

The idea of not having to go back immediately. Of letting the night pass in comfort, for once. Of watching this strange human with the warm smile and gentle hands a little longer…

“Hmph,” Shadow Milk muttered, looking away. “That’s a terrible idea.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t stand.

Didn’t leave.

But oh, such a terrible idea.

Shadow Milk won’t know how he will act when the blood moon happens, how he will end up composing himself. He’s not immune… he's had moments in the past.

Once, he’d nearly torn someone’s throat out simply because they startled him during a shift. They hadn’t even meant harm.

It would be unwise, dangerous.

He didn’t know what Pure Vanilla was, not entirely, but either way he was fragile compared to Shadow Milk. If something snapped in him… if that careful leash around his instincts loosened…

He could end up likely even killing Pure Vanilla unintentionally. Simply because his instincts were accidentally set off. Shadow Milk holds himself to a high standard, but the thought isn’t completely off the table.

Now it wasn’t often that Shadow Milk really felt remorse if he were to accidentally kill, but…

Pure Vanilla had offered him healing, under the guise of a stranger; he seemed kind and welcoming. It would sit too heavily.

“I don’t know.” Shadow Milk said, his voice hesitant, held back. He stared down at the bandages wrapped around his arm, clean and neat.

Pure Vanilla stood, gathering up the cloth and bowl to set it away. “It would be no bother to me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He poured the water out into the sink, wringing out the soaked ragged to leave it to dry. “I insist, my home is quite safe even through blood moons.”

Shadow Milk fidgeted with the bandages, he wasn’t used to being patched up; he mainly left any wounds out to heal on their own. If they were nasty enough, he would cast a small spell on them, maybe wash them out with water. But bandages? 

How humane.

“You aren’t worried? You don’t seem stressed or anxious.” Shadow Milk turned towards him.

“Only a little.” Pure Vanilla sat across from him, his hands neatly folded in his lap. “It’s usually never too bad, I could say you seem calmer than me. I assume you’ve experienced your fair share of blood moons” Pure Vanilla chuckled lightly, his posture relaxed even with a stranger in his home. 

Shadow Milk nodded, carefully looking around the small house; they were indeed alone. “I’ve experienced enough.” His voice was distant, half-lost in memory. A howl in the distance. A beast crouched in a pool of light. Someone begging him to stop.

“I should really be going,” Shadow Milk muttered, straightening in his seat, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “I have… dogs. Waiting for me. Back home. They get… anxious.”

Pure Vanilla smiled, light and kind. “I’m sure they’ll manage a night without you.”

Shadow Milk frowned, glancing off to the side. His jaw tensed. That wasn’t the answer he wanted. Not that he expected to be believed, but he didn’t expect to be brushed off so easily either. He could already feel the restlessness beginning to itch up his spine, the creeping anticipation, the gnawing heat crawling under his skin like a second, unwanted heartbeat. The kind that came before the blood moon.

His leg bounced lightly against the floor, a quiet rhythm, betraying his nerves. The closer the moon came, the harder it got to stay still. To stay together. His body already wanted to shift, his bones ached, and it was taking far more effort than it should to keep his ears and tail tucked away. His glamour was still holding, but barely. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if it cracked.

This human—this…Pure Vanilla—was really planning to keep him here through the blood moon. 

Gods. Okay. He was nervous now.

Best case? He escaped out the window the moment night fell and never came back.

Worst case?

He killed him.

His claws curled into his palm at the thought. He wasn’t exactly sentimental. He wasn’t soft. But the man had been… kind. For no reason. And Shadow Milk couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him without fear or suspicion. It wouldn’t feel right to—

Suddenly, fingers brushed against his forehead.

Shadow Milk startled, his entire frame jerking with a sharp inhale. He flushed instantly, blinking fast as Pure Vanilla’s hand rested gently against his skin.

“You feel warm,” Pure Vanilla said, voice low with concern. “Are you alright? It feels like you might have a fever.”

He froze.

Of course. Of course it would read like a fever—his body was out of sync, burning up from the pressure of the moon. It always happened before a shift. That inner furnace threatening to overtake him.

Still, he managed to huff softly, forcing himself to lean back and away from the touch. “Maybe,” he said. “Could be sick. I haven’t really… rested much.”

“Then you should take the bed,” Pure Vanilla said without missing a beat, already rising from his chair.

Shadow Milk raised a hand to protest. “No, no, I’m fine—really, I’ll just stay down here, or maybe I should go, you don’t want me around—”

But Pure Vanilla was already headed toward the stairs.

“I insist,” he said, looking over his shoulder with a smile. “Come on. It’s already late.”

Shadow Milk sighed. Hesitated.

And then got up, following reluctantly, ears still pinned tight beneath illusion, teeth pressed hard together.

This was a bad idea. He knew it.

But his feet still carried him up the stairs.

His hand was held in Pure Vanilla’s much warmer one. It took everything in him to keep his claws retracted back, making sure not to cut into the soft skin.

The room, of course, wasn’t bad at all. Just as cozy and comfortable as the rest of the house.

But Shadow Milk didn’t want comfortable right now, he wants the roughness of the forest ground, to sink his claws into the earth, his den.

This would have been nice in any other circumstance, but not when his wolf instincts were screaming to run out somewhere.

Pure Vanilla closed the door behind him, leaving Shadow Milk to his own worries.

Alright, he was going to be stuck here for the blood moon.

At first, he started pacing back and forth in the room, his restlessness finally showing more. He felt like a trapped animal, because he was. 

It was already early into the night, the night surprisingly calm compared to other nights.

Pure Vanilla was actually right, the protective spells he put up must have been considerably strong from there not to be too much commotion out. 

Shadow Milk found all the exhaustion he was feeling prior, disappear, he was anything but tired. He wanted to shift, to turn. To finally feel some relief from keeping his beast trapped under his skin. He needed to shift.

But he couldn’t, too risky. 

Right now he was keeping his scent held back, completely masking as a human, something that would have been easy for him had the blood moon not been coming up. But now, it was starting to take him some effort, real effort. And his body was betraying him.

“Damn it.” He hissed under his breath, his claws gripping onto the window sill as he hunched over it. Pure Vanilla had spells not just outside the house, but on the house itself. Likely just a precaution to make sure nothing outside got in. But it made leaving difficult simply because he would know.

If he shifts now, his wolf would be too big to even fit in the room anyway, he'll just end up cramped and even more restless.

Well, he would have to go half way then.

He lets himself shift slowly; his ears forming ontop of his head, his claws finally being shown, his long tail swishing to the ground. His teeth—not being suited for a human mouth—pointed and poking out from his lips.

He stumbled his way to the bathroom, glancing into the mirror, breathless.

His reflection met him with a mess of silver-blue hair, hollowed cheeks, fever-bright eyes, too sharp, too wild. His mouth parted slightly, those fangs gleaming, and his long tail lashed once behind him like it didn’t belong to his body.

This wasn’t good.

He was losing grip faster than he thought.

And he was still stuck in this house.

With a human.

With Pure Vanilla.

His face was flushed, and not just from heat, he was losing control.

He should’ve hunted. Should’ve prepared. He knew better than this. Knew his body, knew his limits. The blood moon didn’t come often, but when it did… it brought everything to the surface. Everything he spent weeks, months burying. In the rare moments that hunger stirred inside him, it was always now. During this cursed cycle.

He needed to hunt.

He needed meat.

His breath caught, then came again, heavier. Shallower. His chest rose and fell too fast, claws twitching. The pressure in his bones, the itch beneath his skin, it was all becoming unbearable. His tail thrashed, sweeping low behind him like it too was losing patience.

This is bad.

This is really bad.

He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, gripping the sink with clawed hands. His knees buckled and he staggered forward, one foot giving out as his legs began to shift again, muscles thickening, forming into something meant for running, for sprinting through the underbrush at breakneck speed. Under his pants he felt the fur, his feet beginning to form into strong paws.

“No,” he hissed between gritted teeth, slamming a hand into the wall. “Not now—not here—”

The beast inside him roared back.

He couldn’t let it out. If he did, he’d lose himself.

He growled low, a rumbling sound in his throat, and shoved back hard. Forced the transformation to halt. Forced the legs, the claws, the instincts to retreat. His head was spinning. The moon was clawing at him from the sky. Every part of him burned with the need to hunt, devour, consume.

Anger was rising now too. Restlessness. The combination was a dangerous thing. His mouth curled, breath hissing through teeth too sharp for comfort.

He stumbled out of the bathroom blindly, vision blurred at the edges—

—and landed on the bed, chest heaving, a guttural growl in his throat—

Then he froze.

That scent.

That impossibly sweet scent, like vanilla and golden light and something ancient and comforting, filled his senses in one sharp wave. He breathed it in once, twice, then again, deeper this time.

And just like that, something gave.

The growl quieted. His ears twitched forward.

Not relaxed, never relaxed—but… steadied. Anchored.

His breath evened out slightly. The hunger still raged in his gut, but the instinct to lash out, to snap his teeth, to run until his legs gave out, that subsided just a bit. Enough that he could feel his hands again. Feel the shape of his body as his.

He forced himself to sit up, forced his features to smooth out. His ears faded back into his skull. Tail—gone. Claws—retracted. Teeth—dull again.

The illusion returned.

But it was painful. Every breath was work. Every shift back into “normal” came with a twist of the knife.

And he was still so hungry.

His stomach twisted, and he let out a soft, shaky breath.

That scent… it was coming from Pure Vanilla, wasn’t it?

Shadow Milk let his gaze drift toward the door. Just beyond it, the other Cookie was probably sitting quietly, reading or sipping tea or pretending not to worry.

He couldn’t feed on him. That wasn’t even a question. It would be—

Unthinkable.

But the scent. It calmed him. Grounded him.

If he stayed close… maybe he could get through the night.

The door creaked open just slightly, a sliver of warm light from downstairs slipping across Shadow Milk’s face. His bare feet touched the steps with careful precision, his body low, shoulders hunched, movements fluid and silent like a shadow slipping through the dark.

He didn’t want to be seen, not like this.

Not when his hands were still twitching with the aftershock of restrained transformation. Not when his skin burned from forcing the shift back into hiding. Not when every instinct still screamed eat, eat, eat.

He crept through the hallway, pausing at the edge of the kitchen.

No sign of Pure Vanilla.

He strained his ears, listening for the faintest sound; a turning page, the clink of a cup, even breath, but the house was too still. The calmness almost felt eerie, too serene for what he was.

But the scent—

That sweet, comforting scent from earlier—he could smell it everywhere now. Not just on Pure Vanilla, but… laced into the air. Threaded through the house like a guiding string. It pulled at his senses, grounded his nerves, calmed him even as his hunger flared hot in his chest.

And then—

He saw it.

A bowl, sitting atop the counter.

It hadn’t been there earlier, he was sure of that. When he’d first come in, there was nothing on the counter, and now… it was just sitting there. Like it had been placed quietly, recently. For him.

Fresh meat. Raw. Unseasoned. Untouched.

His mouth watered on instinct. His pupils blew wide.

He glanced around the room once, twice. Still no Pure Vanilla. No footsteps. No sound.

The scent off the meat was perfect. He stepped closer, cautious, though every fiber in him screamed to lunge for it.

Shadow Milk wasn’t stupid.

He leaned in, nose brushing the edge of the bowl, sniffing deep. If there were even a trace of poison, herbs, sedatives, anything, his nose would’ve caught it.

But it was clean. Pure.

No tampering. Just raw, rich meat, still cold and dripping with flavor.

His lips parted slightly, tongue darting out as he licked them once, the rumble of his stomach suddenly too loud to ignore.

One more look around the room.

Then he gave in.

He lunged, not wildly, but hungrily, and dug in, jaw clicking as his teeth shifted sharper, longer, perfectly designed to tear into the meat with barely a sound. He didn’t even bother pretending to be neat about it, his claws had unsheathed before he’d even noticed, sinking easily into the bowl to tear the meat into pieces.

It was perfect. Juicy. Rich. Fresh.

His long tail had slipped out again, curling along the floor behind him. Had he looked back, he might’ve groaned in embarrassment at how much the long and annoying thing was wagging.

But he didn’t look. Didn’t even think.

He was too busy eating, his body relaxing for the first time all night, that gnawing ache in his belly beginning to fade.

He didn’t feel the eyes on him right away.

Didn’t hear the breath of awe catch in the quiet.

From just beyond the doorway, partially shadowed by the living room’s dark, Pure Vanilla watched him silently with half lidded eyes and a quiet satisfied smile.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, soft gaze unreadable, hands calmly folded in front of him.

He hadn’t asked if Shadow Milk was hungry.

He’d simply known. 

He was the one that had placed the meat there deliberately in the first place.

By the time Shadow Milk was done, he had cleaned all that was left to find in the bowl. He had feasted to the point not even juices were left.

With how much he had dug in, he failed to realize how much of his wolf was showing. Not because he was struggling, but because of how satisfied he was.

He quietly growled with a lazy smirk, his instincts momentarily quieted for the time being. The meat tasted like deer, one of his favorites. 

Lifting himself straighter, he dropped the bowl into the empty sink, rinsing it thoroughly before putting it back where he had found it.

“Hopefully he won’t mind…” he muttered, his hand going up to smooth out his hair. The pleasant smell permeating throughout the house slowly subsided.

He glanced down at his tail in annoyance, swatting at it slightly with his hand, trying to get it to disappear as well. He hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the meat, with a clear head; he could see how obvious he looked. His body was too relaxed, his instincts not struggling against him but too comfortable.

Then—thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy footsteps.

Shadow Milk froze.

He gasped quietly, eyes darting to the doorway. In one swift motion, he leaned over the counter, arms braced on either side, letting the island conceal his lower half. His tail twitched uselessly behind him.

He couldn’t get it to disappear now. He was going to be caught.

The footsteps reached the kitchen, and then—

“Oh… Shadow Milk?”

Pure Vanilla stood there, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, his long hair tousled, his voice still thick with sleep. He blinked at him, clearly surprised to find someone else awake.

Shadow Milk straightened, trying to look casual, hiding the tension in his shoulders.

“…Couldn’t sleep,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Too quiet.”

Pure Vanilla blinked a few more times before smiling faintly. “Mm. I suppose it’s quieter here than most forests. I was just coming to get some water.”

No mention of the bowl. Shadow Milk let out a slow breath.

As Pure Vanilla moved around the island, Shadow Milk mimicked his steps in reverse, subtly shifting with him to keep the counter between them. His tail was lifted just off the floor, bundled loosely in his hand to keep it from dragging. One wrong move and he’d be exposed.

He glanced nervously at Pure Vanilla, who shot him a mild, confused glance over his shoulder, then turned back around to pour water into a glass.

He didn’t see it.

Didn’t say a word about the missing meat. Didn’t even glance toward the sink.

Shadow Milk stayed still as they exchanged idle small talk, nothing significant, just quiet murmurs and a tired chuckle from Pure Vanilla as he sipped at his water.

Then, when Pure Vanilla finally turned toward the fireplace and made his way to the couch, Shadow Milk seized the opportunity.

He carefully inched toward the stairs, holding his tail behind him like he was concealing contraband. The second Pure Vanilla glanced over, he gave a casual wave and said, “I’ll head back up.”

“Alright,” Pure Vanilla said gently, sinking down into the couch, cup in hand. “Goodnight.”

Shadow Milk didn’t answer. He bolted the moment Pure Vanilla looked away.

The door to his room clicked quietly shut behind him.

He slumped to the floor with a sigh of relief, back pressed to the wood, his tail splaying around him on the floor. He ran a hand through his hair again, letting his breath slow.

That was too close.

His hunger was sated. His instincts were calm. But…

Tomorrow night will be worse.

Especially the final hours.

He swallowed thickly, looking down at his hands—at his claws.

“Maybe I can handle it,” he murmured. “Just a little longer.”

He could not handle it.

He didn’t sleep all night, not a single minute.

Too restless, too much pent up energy to stay in a single spot.

And the bed. 

Oh, the bed.

He smelled just like Pure Vanilla, understandable since it was his room.

He had barely touched it since he had arrived here. The mattress was too comfortable, too soft. He needed something rough, something tougher. The blankets and pillows weren’t doing it for him.

In fact, Shadow Milk had to resist tearing the place apart. To sink his teeth and claws into the disgustingly soft sheets. To rip and pull until all the foam and fabric was strung around the room like decor.

He had to sit on the floor, rougher but not satisfying him.

Shadow Milk liked his fair share of comfortability. Actually, he adored luxury—when it was his terms. But that’s not what he wanted right now.

Slowly, he pulled himself to the window, looking out to the trees. They teased him with their closeness, with their proximity.

For a moment he wondered how the other two were doing, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. 

They were likely transformed by now, running to their hearts desire, hunting, burning up their restlessness in the open breeze.

Feeling the grass under their paws… into their fur…

He growled, his eyes narrowed. Lucky bastards.

Shadow Milk wasn’t worried about his territory, the blood moon provided strength; with that added onto them, he didn’t doubt they’ve defended his forest fine.

The blood moon also served as a source of bonding between packs. A time for werewolves in particular to run and hunt as a pack while transformed. As much as Shadow Milk hated to admit it, his instincts acknowledged the two as something similar to a pack over time due to close proximity, and it called for him to make a return.

Just another reason he had to return.

Throughout the day, he paced.

Back and forth. Back and forth. So many times he’d lost track of the number of steps, of how many laps he’d made around the room. The floor might’ve started warping under his feet for how many times he’d tread the same path. His hands flexed, twitched. His muscles coiled tight.

His instincts no longer whispered.

They screamed.

Let go. Break the window. Tear off the disguise. RUN.

It wasn’t a voice. It was everything else.

His bones vibrated. His skin crawled. His vision sharpened, his patience thinned.

When he wasn’t pacing, he was growling to himself, quietly, like a warning. A ward.

Not at anyone in particular. Just at the air.

At the silence.

At the comfort of this stupid room.

Pure Vanilla came to check on him more than once. Always with something in hand; a bowl, a plate, a cup. Food. Tea. Something mild. Something sweet.

Shadow Milk refused all of it except the meat. If it wasn’t meat, it wasn’t food.

Everything else went in the trash. He didn’t even hide it. The plate of seasoned vegetables? Gone. The carefully made tea? Tossed. That politely folded napkin with the little orange slices? Thrown.

Pure Vanilla never commented. But he kept coming back.

And Shadow Milk hated that he didn’t hate it.

Everytime Pure Vanilla checked on him his gazes kept lingering, kept watching him, curious. For once Shadow Milk didn’t know what the glances meant, but he ignored them.

He’d want to stare at himself too, he didn’t blame him.

By the time evening began to creep in, just hours before the blood moon’s rise, he felt like he was unraveling. His hair was ruffled and wild, frizzed like hackles at the base of his neck. His ears itched. His tail twitched. They were still restrained under the glamour of his form, but he could feel them. Like they were fighting back.

He resisted clawing at the walls. At the bedsheets. At the desk. At the clean wooden floor.

Once, he jumped off the bed and landed clean across the room in a single leap; an old, practiced move from his beast form. His body remembered it. His muscle memory was salivating.

His fangs had lengthened. His pupils were blown.

Every now and then, a low growl rumbled from deep in his chest like thunder behind clouds.

He paced again. Nearly howled. Almost gave in to it.

His scent was leaking now. He knew it. No matter how hard he tried to hold it in, to muffle it, it kept trickling out, raw, musky, intense but sweet. It saturated the room like a warning flare. Like a promise. Like a threat.

And then—

He stopped.

Out the window.

There, in the distant shadows between trees, a creature was watching him.

Not a werewolf.

Not a threat.

Just a large, curious hound.

It tilted its head.

Something about its look felt mocking. Like it knew he was stuck in here while it got to roam free. Like it was enjoying it.

Shadow Milk bared his sharp, glinting teeth at it, a low huff leaving his throat. His eyes narrowed. The hound jolted, tripped over its own gangly legs, and scampered back into the forest without another glance.

“Hmph.”

He turned his head away, but stopped.

A scent.

He froze mid-movement. Brows knit.

It wasn’t his scent. Not his usual irritation, not the sickly-sweet comfort smell of Pure Vanilla, not the flowers or the warm air of the room.

It was new.

Sweet—yes—but not the cloying kind. Not the scent that tried to calm.

This one lured.

Tempted.

It was carefully crafted. Subtle but intentional. Not overpowering, but pointed.

Like it had been made for him to notice.

Smells don’t work on me, Shadow Milk thought, suspicious, eyes narrowing. He’d been immune to most of them for as long as he could remember. Most glamours and scent-based charms fizzled the moment they got close.

But this one?

This one wasn’t trying to seduce.

It was trying to bait, to call.

It was different, like it was trying to mask as something else. And it was doing a bad job at it, which is what threw Shadow Milk off.

He couldn't decipher what it was, it didn’t even feel like the scent knew what it was trying to be.

But it did smell good, it was tempting. It’s job as a lure was indeed working. If Shadow Milk had been just a lowly lesser-than, he might of gone running.

His skin flushed, lips curled in a grin, sharp and suspicious. “Hah… What is this?”

He took a step toward the door, curiosity beginning to bite harder than hunger.

That smell… It hadn’t been here before.

So where had it come from?

And who had decided now, of all times, to use it?

His instincts tilted their head.

And then began to laugh.

Definitely a creature…

He was about to chuckle, laugh at the absurdity of it all; until it sunk in.

There was a creature… where Shadow Milk had taken temporary residence. It was downstairs, where Pure Vanilla was.

Oh hell no.

Now he was pissed.

Shadow Milk quickly made his way to the door, his footsteps no longer light. At first he had found the situation amusing, a being somehow sloping through the protective wards and into the house. 

It would have been fine, Shadow Milk would have easily dealt with it, especially with his added strength from the blood moon.

But he had forgotten he wasn’t the only one here, Pure Vanilla was downstairs. That someone kind, stupidly kind, foolishly generous; had invited him into their home, tended to his hunger, tolerated his moods.

 Vulnerable. At a time like this, Pure Vanilla can be killed easily.

And Shadow Milk, usually not the guardian type, but he would be damned to have someone who has cared for him so, be killed by a lowly beast.

Shadow Milk growled, his pupils slits. He practically flew down the stairs, jumping and landing upright with a heavy thud that was enough to vibrate throughout the house.

He didn’t hold back his scent now, didn’t care who or what noticed.

He wanted it to be noticed.

The whole house was suddenly bathed in it, wild, potent, furious. The kind of scent that bled emotion. That marked territory in bold, violent letters.

It even stretched into the forest. Let them all know.

He was pissed.

And then, he saw it.

The front door. Wide open.

His breath left in a low, deep snarl.

He tore through the downstairs space, sniffing, scanning. He moved like a storm through the living room and kitchen, eyes darting, form twitching under the weight of his beast trying to claw through.

No Pure Vanilla.

Only the heavy imprint of something else. Something not supposed to be here.

His hackles raised. His hands shifted. Claws now—Paws now. His glamour flickered at the edges as he padded heavily through the house, resisting the urge to tear it apart.

The scent of that creature was everywhere. Mocking him.

Pure Vanilla’s scent was absent. Shadow Milk couldn’t find it, not even a thread. As if this thing had covered it up.

He was going feral.

How dare it come into his space. Into a home where he was already taking refuge. How dare it even think of threatening someone he—

…cared for.

His breathing deepened. He sniffed the air again.

There.

A faint light beneath a partially open door.

The scent strongest behind it.

He didn’t hesitate.

He kicked it open with a powerful slam, claws scoring the floor as he burst in with a snarl meant to shatter bones. Ready to rip, tear, maul, maim—

Only to stop.

Blink.

There, hunched over a desk, pale fingers trembling on the surface, chest rising and falling in deep, tired breaths—

Was Pure Vanilla.

The scent was coming… from him.

Pure Vanilla jolted at the door slamming but didn’t turn around. Didn’t even flinch enough to look at him.

Shadow Milk froze.

Because this wasn’t just his usual sweet scent. Not the one that tried to calm him.

No… This was different.

This scent had lured him down here.

This was the one that had felt artificial. Engineered. Intentional.

And it was coming from Pure Vanilla.

“…What the hell,” Shadow Milk muttered under his breath, breath still labored, caught between a snarl and a laugh. His claws dug slightly into the doorframe, unsure whether to fight, run, or ask.

His tail twitched behind him, invisible under glamour.

The fury hadn’t left him. But it was smothered now, by confusion. Curiosity. Even a trace of betrayal.

“Pure Vanilla…?” He cautiously tested, he had gone back to masking his scent; not like it mattered much. The whole house was bathed it, even if he hid himself, it was obvious to what he was to anyone who had a nose greater than a human.

But he continued to mask himself anyway.

Shadow Milk stepped slowly more into the room, Pure Vanilla definitely knew he was here, but he wasn’t turning around. His figure was now draped in moonlight from the window he was by, his shoulders tense.

Not a creature pretending to be him, Shadow Milk can see through those types of illusions.

So then… what’s going on here?

Shadow Milk took another step forward, taking another sniff to the air.

It smelled like him, but wrong. Different. Yes, it was genuine, natural.

But it shouldn’t be that. Not from him.

His eyes narrowed, he stopped taking steps forward.

“…I’m fine,” Pure Vanilla said softly, voice a whisper under the tension thick in the air. “It’s nothing to worry about. Please.”

Shadow Milk didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t believe a word of it.

He stared at the hunched figure by the desk, scent still wrong, still sweet, still too sweet in a way that lured. Not soothed.

His claws flexed into the doorframe. “Turn around.”

Silence.

“Look at me.”

A quiet sigh.

Then slowly, deliberately, Pure Vanilla turned his head.

And Shadow Milk jerked back.

His breath caught.

Eyes.

Red.

Crimson. Sharp. Reflective. Not the kind of red that belonged to irritation or exhaustion, but blood, hunger, nature.

His hackles rose immediately, glamour slipping at the edges. Everything about him was ready.

“No,” Shadow Milk said under his breath. “No no no—you’re a—”

He staggered a half step back, eyes wide.

“A vampire,” he hissed. “You’re a vampire—”

The words hit like a curse.

He hadn’t known. Hadn’t sensed. Not once. He was living under the same roof. Eating food made by him. Sleeping one floor above him. In the same walls. And he hadn’t known.

How could he not know.

He always knew. They were good at disguises, yes, but not that good. He could sniff them out from a mile off when he wanted to.

But Pure Vanilla… he’d seemed human.

So human.

“This whole time…” he whispered. “You tricked me. You lied to me. You—You let me stay here, knowing what day it is, knowing the blood moon is tonight. What, were you planning to wait until you get stronger and then rip my throat out? If I’d been a human, I’d surely be dead already!”

His fangs flashed, his voice breaking through the air like glass. He nearly transformed right there, the rage crackling beneath his skin. His pupils thinned to slits, his scent spiked, wild and burning.

Across the room, Pure Vanilla raised his hands slowly in surrender. He stood, not too fast, not threatening, his expression open, calm, even as the red glow still shimmered in his eyes. His fangs caught the light, subtle but there.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Pure Vanilla said gently, no lie in his tone. “I didn’t bring you here to feed on you. That was never my intention.”

Shadow Milk bared his teeth, but stayed where he was, tension held taut in every limb. His claws scraped the wood floor.

“Then why? Why hide it. Why keep it secret unless you were trying to lure me in?”

“I wasn’t,” Pure Vanilla said again, quieter. “I saw you from across the path. I knew where you lived. I—”

That made Shadow Milk’s body jerk in warning.

“You knew?” he snapped.

Pure Vanilla nodded. “I did. You live across the forest path. I saw you a few times. I was… curious. Interested. I just wanted to meet you, not frighten you.”

“So you lured me into your side of the forest?” Shadow Milk snarled. “You made sure I’d come to you?”

“No,” Pure Vanilla said quickly, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t expect you to wander into the woods. That part wasn’t mine. That path belongs to you. You were injured. You were lost. I only took you in because I wanted to help you.”

“But you still knew,” Shadow Milk growled. “You knew where I came from. You knew what I was. And you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“You deceived me.”

His form shifted, just a little more. His ears fully unmasked, rising tall and alert. His claws long and gleaming. His teeth jagged now, glowing faint in the dark. His tail slammed to the floor once more as a warning, slow and low.

He hated being tricked. Hated being deceived. The irony wasn’t lost on him, but it burned worse when it was him on the receiving end.

But when he looked up again, Pure Vanilla wasn’t looking at him with fear.

He was looking at him with… awe.

Like he was amazed.

And it caught Shadow Milk off-guard, just for a moment.

Before Pure Vanilla blinked and the expression softened into something more composed, more careful.

“I haven’t fed in a very long time,” he said quietly. “Centuries, even. I have no desire to harm anyone. Least of all you.”

Shadow Milk stilled.

That caught him off-guard again.

“…What?”

“I don’t hunt. I don’t feed. Not anymore.”

His hands remained raised, soft light gathering at his palms in a glow that wasn’t magic, just stillness. Peace. Trust.

Shadow Milk could still smell the sweetness in the air, but it didn’t feel like a trap anymore.

Just a truth.

He didn’t want to believe him.

Didn’t want to be stupid.

But his instincts weren’t screaming anymore. Only growling softly, cautious.

“…You’re insane,” Shadow Milk muttered.

Pure Vanilla gave a tiny smile. “I’ve been told that before.”

Shadow Milk sighed, relaxing his emotions. His wolf features slowly seeping through.

Now, he was confused.

He sat on a chair, his hands on his temples in thought. 

The clock would strike midnight in about 20 minutes. The scent he had smelled from Pure Vanilla earlier likely a result from the upcoming blood moon having an effect on him, in the end no creature could escape the moon’s effect.

While Shadow Milk’s instincts had calmed down momentarily in his confusion, when midnight comes; there’s no telling how he’ll act as well.

In his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Pure Vanilla staring at him in curiosity, in awe. He also hadn't noticed when he had moved to sit next to him.

“I apologize for not telling you sooner.” Pure Vanilla’s voice was soft, remorseful. He was no longer looking at Shadow Milk but instead looking down at his lap.

Shadow Milk snorted. “Whatever, I suppose we’re even since I lied to you too.”

“I suppose you want to get back to your pack now, you don’t have to stay. Especially through the blood moon.” Pure Vanilla’s gaze shifted to the window, the rays of the moon already appearing a soft orange.

15 minutes before midnight.

“Pack? They—no. I have no pack.” Shadow Milk rolled his eyes, folding his arms. Though at the mention of a pack, he did feel that restlessness creeping up his spine once again.

Pure Vanilla smiled at him gently, his eyebrow raised in question. “Are you sure?”

“Stop asking my questions.” Shadow Milk grumbled, standing up and stretching. He made his way to the front door, it was still wide open, the night air coming through.

Shadow Milk stepped forward, standing just in the doorway. The scent of bark and moss and damp leaves rushed into his nose. He could feel the forest tugging at him. He could shift right now and disappear through the trees. His paws would be fast, silent. He’d return to his territory—if it was still his. Candy Apple and Black Sapphire would be waiting, wouldn’t they? They’d howl at the moon together. Hunt.

His so-called “pack.”

One step forward.

Then he stopped.

His tail swished against the floor. His claws gripped the doorframe. His ears slowly folded back.

Why… couldn’t he go?

He glanced over his shoulder.

Pure Vanilla was sitting at the kitchen table now, watching him again. Not expectantly. Not commandingly. Just… softly. His expression unreadable, but not unkind.

He looked at him the way no one ever had. Not with fear. Not with judgment. Just quiet wonder.

The clock ticked.

Ten minutes left.

Shadow Milk exhaled hard through his nose, then turned and gently shut the door.

Blood moon lasts a week.

They could wait.

Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly, the soft golden light of the kitchen lamps pooling around him like moonlight’s twin. The warmth in his expression was clear, but his brows rose as Shadow Milk shut the door quietly, the click sounding far louder than it should’ve.

“…You’re not going?” he asked, voice calm, hesitant.

Shadow Milk didn’t answer at first. His hand lingered on the door handle, claws faintly tapping against the wood. His tail swept the floor once more, slower now. Not agitated. Just uncertain.

“I could’ve,” he muttered finally, not turning around. “Could’ve just gone.”

“Yes,” Pure Vanilla said, watching him closely now. “You still can.”

Shadow Milk turned then, his eyes catching the edge of the moonlight outside the window, rich orange now, thicker, heavier. The scent of the wild called to him like a lover’s tug, magnetic and maddening. His muscles itched for movement. His ears twitched at every distant sound in the trees. His body wanted to run, shift, hunt—and yet—

He was still inside.

Still here.

He made a face, like he didn’t understand himself. “Tch. I don’t know. Don’t ask.”

Pure Vanilla blinked once, then slowly smiled. “I didn’t.”

Shadow Milk huffed. “You were going to.”

“I was,” Pure Vanilla admitted softly.

Shadow Milk crossed his arms, pacing a little in the entryway like a caged animal. He looked like he was trying to talk himself into leaving, but every glance toward the door ended with a sideways glance toward Pure Vanilla instead.

“…They can wait,” he finally said, as if trying to convince himself. “Not like the blood moon was in a rush, I’ll return before it's over.”

He shook his head, frustrated. “Whatever. Not like I’m dying to see them.”

He glanced at the clock again.

Seven minutes.

Pure Vanilla was still watching him, eyes soft, careful. “You don’t have to force yourself to stay here. If you want to go, I won’t stop you.”

“You say that, but you’re still watching me,” Shadow Milk snapped.

“Because I’m curious.”

“Curious?”

“About why you’re still standing here.”

Shadow Milk stared at him. The expression Pure Vanilla wore wasn’t smug, wasn’t sly, it was just open. Like he was genuinely wondering. Like he wanted to understand him.

And Shadow Milk didn’t know how to deal with that.

“…You keep looking at me like that,” he grumbled, kicking a chair leg lightly before flopping into it, claws tapping the table. “Like you’re trying to read me.”

“I’m just wondering what you’re feeling.”

“You’re a vampire, not an empath.”

Pure Vanilla smiled faintly. “No, but I know loneliness when I see it.”

Shadow Milk stiffened. His tail flicked.

“I’m not lonely.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Pure Vanilla replied gently. “I said I see it.”

A long silence followed.

Then, almost inaudibly, Shadow Milk muttered, “…You’re annoying.”

Pure Vanilla gave a small laugh. “You’ve told me that already.”

“Then you should be used to it.”

“I think I am.”

Shadow Milk rubbed his temple again, his fingers twitching as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The scent in the air was getting thicker now, his own, wilder now, instinct creeping up like a rising tide. Pure Vanilla’s scent was laced into it too, still gentle, but more floral now, no longer a trap, just a hum. Still present.

Five minutes.

The air shifted.

Shadow Milk let out a slow breath, his eyes glinting in the light as he looked back at Pure Vanilla again.

“…Do you have somewhere safe to be?” he asked suddenly, voice low. “During the blood moon, I mean.”

Pure Vanilla blinked, surprised by the question. “I’ll be fine. I don’t transform. It doesn’t affect me the same way anymore.”

Shadow Milk looked unconvinced. “Still. Some creatures lose it. Not every vampire keeps their teeth to themselves.”

“That’s true.”

“So—do you?”

Pure Vanilla shook his head with a small smile. “No. I stay home. Usually I don’t have guests.”

Shadow Milk scoffed. “Then you’re a terrible host.”

“Maybe. But you haven’t left yet.”

Shadow Milk looked away.

Four minutes.

“…I’ll stay,” he muttered.

Pure Vanilla blinked again. “Are you sure?”

“No,” he admitted.

But he didn’t get up. He didn’t reach for the door.

He stayed where he was.

“…But if I lose control,” he added, eyes narrowing, “Don’t act like some kind of saint. I’m not above biting first.”

Pure Vanilla nodded slowly. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good.”

Another beat of silence. Then:

“…Thank you.”

Pure Vanilla looked at him.

Shadow Milk’s expression was half-hidden behind one hand and a brooding scowl, but the word had come out clear.

Pure Vanilla smiled again.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment Shadow Milk was silent, thinking.

“…You know, it’s dangerous for a vampire not to feast at all. Especially on a blood moon.”

Pure Vanilla nodded, tilting his head slightly. “It is, but I've learned to deal with hunger. It doesn’t bother me.”

Shadow Milk growled, leaning forward over the counter. Pure Vanilla, in surprise, leaned back.

“That’s not what I meant.” Shadow Milk grumbled, flashing his teeth. “I mean it’s dangerous. You can end up at best weak and vulnerable to any crazed bold creature out there in the forest.” Shadow Milk pointed out the window.

“Worst case scenario, you die.” He huffed, his pupils in slits. His patience was worn thin, his emotions taking over. “You’re a vampire. You need sustenance, food.”

“Don’t worry about me—“

“Idiot!” Shadow Milk snapped.

Shadow Milk growled louder.

The word rang through the room like a slap.

Shadow Milk growled louder, the sound reverberating in his throat.

Then, without warning, he exhaled sharply and reached up to his collar.

In one rough tug, he yanked the fabric of his bodysuit down, exposing his neck.

Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched.

His eyes went wide.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” Shadow Milk muttered, voice low. “Drink. It’s a blood moon. I’ll be fine. By the time it strikes midnight, the wound will be gone like it never happened.”

Pure Vanilla froze, shaking his head. “No, I—”

Shadow Milk was already moving.

He stepped forward and grabbed him by the front of his robes, tugging him close. The motion wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, driven by urgency, and something raw beneath it. Time was limited, it was best to do this while Shadow Milk was in his right mind. His fingers found the back of Pure Vanilla’s head, pressing him down toward the exposed skin.

Pure Vanilla flushed instantly, trembling.

“I can heal fine afterward,” Shadow Milk said, voice tight. “I will.”

“It’s not about that—”

“Then what is it about?” he barked, his grip tightening. “You let yourself starve. You let yourself get weak. You let yourself fade when I’m right here—”

His voice snarled out lower.

“—and you won’t even drink.”

The clock ticked.

Two minutes to midnight.

Pure Vanilla’s hands were shaking. His breath was shallow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Shadow Milk growled. “Just do it already.”

Still, Pure Vanilla hesitated.

Shadow Milk’s hand gripped his head harder. “Bite me, dammit!”

It was instinct, finally, that overrode the restraint.

Pure Vanilla’s fangs sank into his skin.

Shadow Milk winced, claws curling against the counter. The sharp sting bloomed instantly, but he didn’t move, didn’t fight it.

His lips parted with a shallow exhale, eyes unfocused.

The sensation was strange, warm, intense, and tugging at something deep in his gut. He could feel Pure Vanilla press closer, hands braced on his waist as he drank. Not too fast, but not hesitant anymore either.

And then there it was—the venom.

Vampire venom laced through the bite, a narcotic hum that fuzzed the edges of his thoughts. Most prey would fall limp and dazed. Shadow Milk didn’t, but his knees buckled slightly, his grip slipped. His jaw went slack, just enough for a small trail of drool to fall from the corner of his mouth.

He ignored it.

Or didn’t notice.

A half-lidded smile twitched at his lips.

“…You know,” he mumbled lazily, “for someone so polite, you drink like a starving animal.”

Pure Vanilla flushed deeper, but didn’t stop.

Shadow Milk let out a quiet chuckle, even as the world began to glow red behind his eyelids. His body burned faintly under the venom’s haze, but it was manageable. He stayed still. Let him take what he needed.

It was only fair.

This was his payment, wasn’t it?

For everything Pure Vanilla had done.

One minute to midnight.

The bite would vanish.

And something else would wake.

Eventually, Shadow Milk felt his knees buckle again, his body starting to tilt backwards. He wasn’t even aware he was about to fall.

Pure Vanilla caught him easily, his arm wrapped around his waist with precision. His other hand pressed into his upper back, pulling him forward until it was Shadow Milk being pressed into Pure Vanilla.

Shadow Milk was a bit out of it, the venom working into his veins. He was aware, but at the same time not. 

Had Shadow Milk been a human, he’d likely be dead by now with how much Pure Vanilla was drinking. Pure Vanilla knew he could drink more due to his fast healing abilities being faster than his drinking, leading him to being able to consume more.

How smart.

How irritating.

The clock struck midnight, the orange-ish hue outside a reminder of the time.

Apparently his instincts were also affected by the venom.

Shadow Milk should’ve gone feral by now, should’ve been clawing at the walls, wild with lunar instinct. But instead, he just… growled softly.

Or at least, he thought it was a growl.

It sounded suspiciously like a purr.

He would not acknowledge it.

He was about to shake it off, grumble something sarcastic—until Pure Vanilla purred back.

Shadow Milk blinked, caught completely off-guard.

He forgot vampires could do that too.

Eventually, the drinking slowed. Pure Vanilla’s lips pulled back, his fangs sliding out of the wound; he licked the wound slowly once over, simply for good measure. 

Shadow Milk shivered at the contact.

He wiped his mouth gently with the back of his hand, the other rising to press softly against Shadow Milk’s neck, closing the bite with a golden pulse of light.

Shadow Milk blinked slowly, disoriented.

It was then he realized he was sitting in Pure Vanilla’s lap.

His tail swished once.

He looked up groggily. “…Oh.”

Pure Vanilla smiled softly down at him, voice quiet. “Just hold still. Almost done healing.” His thumb raised to the corner of Shadow Milk’s mouth, wiping the drool.

Shadow Milk hummed faintly in response. His head lolled slightly as the warmth faded, replaced by a tingling calm. He stared up at Pure Vanilla’s face, the golden hair, the fluttering lashes, the faint flush on his cheeks from the strain of holding back while feeding. Shadow Milk was adorning his own flush from the effects of the venom.

“You’re really pretty,” he murmured.

Pure Vanilla flushed. “You’re under the effects of venom.”

“I said what I said.”

He chuckled breathily, looking away, flustered but fond. “You’ll get to go soon,” he said softly. “The moon’s full now; you can shift, run, do as you please. I know you’ve been holding back.” Pure Vanilla looked him over. “I apologize for making you think you had to hold back.

His hand rose to Shadow Milk’s temple, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen in his face.

“You must be starving, I’m sorry I don’t have any meat right now. And I can’t let you go out like this. Not when you’re still loopy. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m fine,” Shadow Milk slurred, immediately ruining the argument by swaying slightly. “No creature would dare.”

He scowled, then reached up with both hands and squished Pure Vanilla’s cheeks.

Pure Vanilla blinked, startled, then laughed, a soft, confused sound. “What are you doing?”

“Quiet,” Shadow Milk grumbled. “This is revenge.”

“For what?”

“For being smug and glowy and full of blood.”

Pure Vanilla’s laughter came again, quieter this time. He didn’t pull away, just held Shadow Milk gently, keeping him upright.

“Thank you,” he said after a pause. “For letting me feed.”

Shadow Milk didn’t answer right away.

Then, finally, he gave a loopy, lopsided smile.

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

His tail thumped once against the floor.

Shadow Milk grumbled, his ears twitching up top his head, his hair disheveled and ruffled. He huffed, a growl working up his throat. He ran a hand over the back of his head, his other hand gripping onto Pure Vanilla’s robe.

“I know, I know.”  Pure Vanilla pushes them both into a stand, holding onto Shadow Milk so he doesn’t fall. “Soon, I promise.” Pure Vanilla fingers went up to Shadow Milk’s hair, lightly scratching behind them—feeling them—the action was bathed in curiosity.

“Don’t touch me.” Shadow Milk swatted at his hand lazily, his balance wobbling before he used his tail to mainly steady himself. 

“Up close, you are really pretty as a wolf.”

His hand still gripped the edge of Pure Vanilla's robe. His tail stopped moving. His ears flicked once, stunned.

Slowly, his mind seemed to reboot. His eyes focused. The haze of venom, of warmth, of whatever that moment just was, all cleared in one lightning-sharp strike of disbelief.

“…What.”

Pure Vanilla blinked innocently at him, smile unchanged. “I said what I said.”

“You did not just—!” Shadow Milk reeled back slightly, face flushing hot with a mix of venom haze and pure, furious embarrassment. “You—are you trying to start a fight with me.”

“No,” Pure Vanilla said calmly. “But you are.”

Shadow Milk balled his hands into fists, still wobbling. “Flattery is manipulation!”

Pure Vanilla tilted his head. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t!”

“You’re wagging your tail again.”

Shadow Milk made a noise somewhere between a squawk and a strangled growl, immediately gripping his tail and shoving it behind him like he could hide the betrayal.

“You’re imagining things,” he snapped.

“Of course,” Pure Vanilla agreed sweetly.

Shadow Milk looked like he wanted to throw something. But he had nothing to throw except the sleeve of the robe he was still holding.

Which he did.

Right into Pure Vanilla’s face.

“Fine!” he barked, ears folded flat, storming unsteadily toward the door. “I’m shifting! I’m leaving! Don’t follow me!”

“You’re still dizzy.”

“I’LL CRAWL IF I HAVE TO!” He shouted from outside.

Pure Vanilla watched him go, sighing through a tired smile, smoothing down his robes and gently fixing it back over his arm.

“…He is pretty, though.”

Outside, the air was crisp and heavy with the scent of pine, dirt, and the faint copper tang of the blood moon overhead. Shadow Milk barely glanced over his shoulder as Pure Vanilla followed him out the door. He let out a low grumble but didn’t bother acknowledging his presence beyond that.

His claws clicked against the stone for a moment before he dropped onto all fours, tail swishing lazily behind him. For once, finally, he didn’t have to suppress anything. No tension riding his shoulders, no teeth clenched behind fake smiles, no coiling instincts buried under the need to “behave.”

He could breathe.

His body buzzed, magic and blood and something ancient pooling just under his skin. He could feel the tug of his true form pressing up through him. But even now, even under the blood moon, his emotions stayed in check. His mind remained sharp. Control, he still had it.

He let go.

Muscles stretched and cracked as his body grew, posture curling forward, limbs expanding. Luminous fur shimmered into existence, black with mixes of iridescent streaks of dark blue  silver, like a night sky twisted into fur. His hair folded and curled into a thick mane along his neck, ghostly eyes now swirling across it like embers come to life. Fangs lengthened, claws sharpened. When he stood at full height, he towered over Pure Vanilla, a hulking and magnificent beast.

It felt glorious.

For a moment, he forgot Pure Vanilla was even there, until he heard the breath of awe behind him.

Pure Vanilla stared, speechless. Not in fear. But like he was seeing the moon for the first time.

Shadow Milk’s head turned toward him, four glowing eyes glinting with curiosity. Then, without a word, he turned and bounded off into the forest, his massive form darting between the trees, releasing a howl so loud it echoed through the hills.

Two more howls answered in the distance. 

Pure Vanilla smiled softly, already turning to go back inside.

Then—a low snarl.

He turned.

Shadow Milk had come back. Now sitting neatly on the porch, his massive wolf form coiled with energy, his head tilted slightly to the side. A little too cute for the creature he was.

“…I thought you were leaving,” Pure Vanilla asked.

Shadow Milk snorted, shifting on his paws, eyes briefly avoiding him.

“I don’t have to go back right away,” he muttered. “There’s… a big deer nearby.”

He fidgeted again, ears flicking. “Wanna hunt?”

Pure Vanilla blinked. “Me?”

“You’re a vampire,” Shadow Milk shrugged. “You can shift. Claws, fangs. Don’t act like you can’t keep up.”

Pure Vanilla stepped forward slowly, tone casual but curious. “You know werewolves usually only hunt with people they like, right?”

Shadow Milk’s ears immediately snapped back. “Shut up.”

Pure Vanilla laughed. “I agree, then. It’s been a while.”

Shadow Milk shot him a glare and stood up tall on two legs, the full height of his body casting a long shadow across the porch. Disdain crossed his lupine features, an obvious show, but his posture betrayed him. He was stiff, ears turned back, like a blush might’ve crawled up his face if he had a visible one in this form.

“You’re gorgeous,” Pure Vanilla murmured.

Shadow Milk’s ears twitched violently, he dropped down again.

Pure Vanilla reached out slowly, pressing a hand to the soft fur of his nose. Shadow Milk held still, for a second, before a low growl rumbled from his chest and he jerked his head away. Not because he was angry.

Because he didn’t know how to handle it.

Still, he didn’t retreat far. Just a step. Just enough to flick his tail in challenge before trotting past the porch edge toward the woods, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

“Well?” he barked. “Hurry up, old man.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled, stepping down from the porch and following close behind. “Lead the way.”

Shadow Milk would lead the way, his paws padding along the forest floor. 

He let himself feel the night air, the wind flowing right through his fur, his tail tapping against the ground, his ears listening.

It was rejuvenating.

He felt free, absolutely free.

Something he didn’t do was run at a full sprint, which is a thing he always did as soon as a blood moon would hit.

Vampires are fast, but he is faster. Pure Vanilla would lose him. Not that he necessarily cares, but he is following he supposes.

They found the deer in a clearing wrapped in pale mist, ears twitching, body tense, unaware of the two predators encircling it like a closing trap.

Pure Vanilla moved silently through the trees, his presence barely a whisper in the wind. A single snap of a branch was all it took, just enough to spook the deer forward.

Right into Shadow Milk.

A snarl. A blur of fur and fangs. The deer barely had time to make a sound before it crumpled beneath him, bones snapping beneath his jaws. Shadow Milk didn’t hesitate. He devoured it, tearing into muscle and hide with primal ease, eating like he hadn’t in weeks. Maybe he hadn’t.

Pure Vanilla watched from the edge of the clearing, still and quiet. He didn’t need to feed, blood was a more refined thing, a craving that didn’t come with the same urgency as flesh. But still, he observed, silently fascinated.

Shadow Milk’s muzzle was streaked in blood when he finally looked up, pale tongue dragging across his lips. He stared at Pure Vanilla, thoughtful. Then, with a flick of his ears, he nudged the carcass slightly in his direction.

“You want some?” He muttered softly.

Pure Vanilla blinked. “No, thank you,” he said quickly, hands up in refusal.

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes and went back to eating with a scoff that was more amused than annoyed.

That was the first night.

The next few days passed in a blur of moonlight and forest, of howls echoing through the hills and shadowed forms racing through the trees. Three days of blood moon meant three days of wild freedom. Shadow Milk ran, hunted, fought, sometimes alone, sometimes with Pure Vanilla at his side or just behind, keeping pace with a quiet steadiness that surprised him.

Creatures who dared to test his claim fell quickly beneath his claws. His land remained secure. Even if it wasn’t really his land, but either way he was still in it.

Pure Vanilla never interfered. He just watched, eyes filled with quiet wonder. And Shadow Milk let him. Maybe even liked the attention. He liked the way Pure Vanilla looked at him like he was something beautiful, not something broken. He wouldn’t say that, of course—but he liked it.

After he had originally shifted to his beastly form, he wasn’t able to shift back. Not because he couldn’t, but he simply didn’t want to. Which meant more showing off, more watching.

One morning, Shadow Milk woke up at the edge of Pure Vanilla’s garden, head resting in the tall grass, dew collecting on his fur. He was confused at first, until he felt the warm weight nestled against his mane.

Pure Vanilla was asleep beside him, curled into the thick fur, breathing softly.

Shadow Milk didn’t move. Didn’t even growl. He just closed his eyes again.

He let him.

Sometimes Pure Vanilla fed on him. Not often. Not without coaxing. And yelling. And dramatic protests. But Shadow Milk always gave in eventually, grumbling while Pure Vanilla murmured his thanks with a touch far too gentle for someone supposedly “feeding.”

It wasn’t just about the blood. There was something about being near him that grounded Shadow Milk. Kept him steady. Kept him from spiraling into the wildness that waited just beneath his skin. With Pure Vanilla, he didn’t have to fear going too far.

But it couldn’t last forever.

Eventually, now halfway through the blood moon week, and he had to return to his own land.

With four more days left of the blood moon, he met Candy Apple and Black Sapphire near the west. Both were still transformed, massive, gleaming, proud, and they greeted him with affectionate howls and eager tails. It felt good. Right.

He was even more pleased to see the torn-up remains of intruders scattered at the borders. Candy Apple grinned wickedly. Black Sapphire licked blood off his paw. They’d held things down while he was gone.

He felt amazing here, in his domain, surrounded by strength and silence and the scent of familiar earth.

And yet…

Sometimes his mind drifted.

To the porch light at the edge of the trees.

To the scent of pressed herbs and sugar.

To a vampire’s fingers trailing gently through his mane.

To soft murmurs in the dark, and eyes that looked at him without fear.

How kind he was.

After that he stayed in his territory for a while. Time that he spent cleaning up everything while he was gone.

After weeks—maybe months, he doesn’t keep track of things like those—he almost forgot about the other forest.

Almost.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire questioned him on where he went, something he brushed off.

By the time he was finally able to transform back, he had already gotten used to being back in his territory. Some nights, he lounged in the tall trees. Other nights, he stretched out in a grassy clearing in his beast form while Candy Apple clambered around him like an overexcited pup, climbing onto his back and pressing her face into his fur. He tolerated it—barely—until Black Sapphire came and yanked her off with an annoyed huff.

Besides that, he loves being back in his actual territory.

But sometimes… his mind would drift.

Soft curious hands running through his mane, up his head and around his ears; all the way down to his muzzle, all while making sure not to go near his many eyes.

The way he would feel the prick of fangs in his neck, how they never took more than what was needed. 

That pleasant smell. 

Shadow Milk shot up from the grass, he had detransformed while in thought.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire were in the grass next to him almost piled on top of each other asleep. Shadow Milk hadn’t even noticed them at first.

His other hand went up to his neck, the wound from those many nights ago long closed and gone. Not a trace of evidence left.

And still, why is he remembering? 

The interactions were months ago, long enough for him to almost forget. He had thought he moved on, stopped caring.

But why did his heart beat faster when he thought about it, when he remembered.

Did he—

Did he miss Pure Vanilla?

Shadow Milk scowled, the crickets in the night being the only sound that wasn’t nearly enough to drown out his incessant thoughts.

He got up, looking down at the other two who were still asleep, snoring even.

They were alright, he supposes. But they didn’t give him the attention he wanted. They were devoted and driven to serve. Shadow Milk was fine with that, but that’s not what he necessarily desired.

Quietly, he sighed, making his way slowly through his quiet forest. His feet on auto pilot while he walked the same path he did all that time ago.

Thoughts swarmed through his head.

Was Pure Vanilla even still there?  

Is he even still alive?

Shadow Milk arrived at the stream, he didn’t get in, but he looked around. He was here last time in his beast form to wash off, the eyes he had felt in him were likely Pure Vanilla’s.

He waited.

…

Nothing.

Shadow Milk frowned. His heart thudded once. A dull, deep sound.

So he turned, heading for the dividing path.

The one trail that stood between his forest and that one.

And he stood there.

Didn’t cross it.

He just waited.

Would Pure Vanilla even want to see him again?

He waited.

Maybe he was being foolish. He was foolish. This was stupid.

He waited.

What if Pure Vanilla had found someone else already?

The thought made his stomach twist. He hated it. Hated that he felt anything at the idea.

His ears twitched low, folding back. His tail hung limp, nearly tucked.

Maybe he was foolish. Maybe Pure Vanilla had forgotten about him too.

He turned to leave.

But then—

A rustle in the bushes.

He froze.

Another rustle. Closer.

His ears perked, his tail swished low and slow, breath caught in his throat.

Then—

Long golden hair, soft and glimmering in the moonlight.

White and gold robes so bright they nearly glowed.

Eyes open, gentle, radiant and smiling.

He didn’t cross the path either.

But he raised his hand and waved. That same warm grin stretched across his face like no time had passed at all.

And Shadow Milk didn’t even hesitate.

He jumped at him.

Pure Vanilla embraced him with open arms, they both tumbled to the forest floor as 

They tumbled into the soft grass together, limbs tangled, laughter muffled by the way Shadow Milk immediately started purring, low, guttural, content.

Pure Vanilla blinked at the sound, surprised, before a soft echo of his own escaped, less wild, more like a hum caught in his chest. It was instinctive. Natural. Right.

“You’re real,” Shadow Milk murmured, his face buried in Pure Vanilla’s shoulder. “You’re actually here.”

Pure Vanilla’s arms curled loosely around him. “I missed you.”

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Shadow Milk admitted, voice quiet, like he didn’t want to ruin the moment by being honest. “Didn’t think you’d even want to.”

“I thought about it,” Pure Vanilla whispered. “Every day. But I didn’t want to cross into your forest. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Shadow Milk snorted, lifting his head. “You’re not everyone else. If you were, I wouldn’t have waited.”

There was a pause, something hung in the air, shy and unspoken, before Shadow Milk sat up, scratching his cheek awkwardly.

“You could stay here, you know,” he offered suddenly, like the words were too sharp on his tongue. “My forest. You could live in it. There’s space. It’s quiet. You wouldn’t be bothered.”

Pure Vanilla blinked, a little touched, a little startled. “That’s kind of you… but I like my house.”

Shadow Milk frowned, brows furrowing. His ears even drooped a little.

“I’m not a werewolf like you,” Pure Vanilla added with a sheepish chuckle. “I can’t exactly live outside full time. I’d melt in the summer from the heat.”

Shadow Milk scowled, but Pure Vanilla reached up and brushed his fingers through his hair, through his ears, calming the little storm.

“You’re always welcome to visit,” Pure Vanilla said gently. “My door’s open. I promise.”

Shadow Milk’s tail thumped against the ground, betraying how pleased he was. He grinned, wide and toothy.

Pure Vanilla laughed softly, and his hand kept petting, through curled sidelocks and soft waves, tucking some strands back, letting others fall forward. Shadow Milk closed his eyes for a moment, relishing it. When they opened again, half-lidded and content, Pure Vanilla leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

A low, rumbling growl stirred in Shadow Milk’s throat, not in warning but something else entirely. He didn’t pull away.

So Pure Vanilla kissed his cheek again, slower this time.

“I’d love to explore your forest,” Pure Vanilla murmured, now resting his head against Shadow Milk’s shoulder. “I’ve seen the edge, but I’ve heard stories. That it’s beautiful. That it’s dangerous. I heard there’s two massive protective dogs there, and you told me keep some, so I’m assuming they are yours..”

Shadow Milk’s grin turned wicked. “So you heard about them, huh?”

He stood, tugging Pure Vanilla to his feet, claws just lightly grazing his palm. The air shimmered around him, his form already beginning to shift, legs bending, fur bristling, teeth elongating—

But he paused.

Turned.

Looked at Pure Vanilla with a strange, searching expression.

And then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed him properly.

It was firm, sudden, but not rough. There was no rush behind it, no demand, just warmth, wildness, and the tiniest flicker of relief.

Pure Vanilla didn’t hesitate. He melted into it, arms curling back around Shadow Milk’s frame, hand still brushing at his hair like he couldn’t help it.

When they finally pulled apart, Shadow Milk’s grin was sharp, breathless.

Without another word, he dropped into his full beast form, massive, powerful, and shimmering under the moonlight, and sprinted into the trees, tail high, his mane rippling.

“Try to keep up, Nilly!” he howled with laughter.

Pure Vanilla blinked before letting out a soft laugh, breath catching in his throat as he chased after him, robes fluttering behind.

And his forest welcomed them both.