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The arrow whistled through the air before burying itself into the stone, barely grazing the vampire’s cheek. It was a beautiful night, and the hunt was still on.
This wasn’t just any target: this was a big one, a creature that hunters would never let slip away. Even so, the man cursed under his breath he had been following it for hours, trying to catch it, kill it.
—Demon creature... finally, I’ve got you.—
There was no way out.
Kieran knew it, and still, he stood his ground.
He breathed heavily, more out of habit than necessity. He wasn’t a being that relied on what a human needs. But the exhaustion seeped into his bones.
The moon reigned high, bright, perfect, and the smell of silver saturated the forest like ancient poison.
Then, the vampire bled.
Yes... vampires bleed too.
Kieran cursed; he shouldn't have gotten careless.
Maybe this would be the end.
But then, as if born from the mist itself, a growl broke the air low, guttural, inhuman.
The hunter turned.
Too late.
Kieran smiled, his gaze lit up, and from his lips escaped a name like a prayer:
—Mason!—
A dark shadow fell upon the hunter: fur the color of moon ash, eyes like glowing embers, muscles tense like a bow about to snap.
Everything happened fast. There were no screams, no time, only cracks, flesh torn. And then… silence.
The vampire didn’t move, he remained still, watching.
The wolf, covered in another’s blood, turned toward him they didn’t speak, not much at least.
It was always glances, heavy breaths. And, from time to time, a single word, that secret language they had invented in the cracks of the world.
The wolf took one step, then another.
Kieran, exhausted, let himself fall to his knees, his arms wrapped around the wolf.
Mason began to shift back, his claws hugging him with a savage tenderness.
Their bodies came together.
That was home.
That was safety.
—You came…—
Whispered the vampire with a tired smile.
Mason growled softly, an affirmative sound. Kieran smiled again, this time with true joy.
The lycanthrope moved closer, rubbing his body against Kieran’s, wanting to cover him in his scent, to protect him, to mark him.
Kieran didn’t complain about the blood on his clothes. On the contrary. He took Mason’s face in his hands and kissed him slow, a gentle, soft gesture.
The wolf closed his eyes.
And then, like a dark and sweet wave, the past returned.
As if they were going back in time, many years ago.
It was in a clearing in the forest where the moons were whiter and the shadows deeper.
Their first encounter had been an ambush.
A night patrol from his father’s entourage: immortal nobles hunting werewolves.
Kieran marched wrapped in velvet and arrogance, bored, unsatisfied, knives hidden in his smile.
But they got lost.
The mist separated them.
And among the trees, he saw him.
A man covered in pelts of his own kind, like trophies of battles, standing tall. With sharp claws, long fangs, and eyes that looked at him as if they could pierce through him.
It wasn’t like the stories.
But his eyes… his eyes were wild.
He was a creature free, brutal, with scars, with a soul.
And Kieran felt something.
Something that neither the crystal chalices nor the centuries of blood in his castle had ever stirred.
The wolf felt it too, he didn’t run, he didn’t attack.
He just looked at him.
And since then, they met again once, then again, and again.
Until Kieran didn’t return to the castle.
They called him mad, said he’d abandoned immortal nobility to roll in the mud. To love a beast that howled at the moon.
But it was more than that.
It was the way Mason looked at him, how he growled to correct him, how he used his body to shield him, how without words he told him the things he never heard from his father, nor his brother.
Kieran never asked for an I love you.
But he felt it.
Every time Mason found him lost and stressed, every time he guided him with soft growls, every time they slept together on pelts, in silence, in peace.
No, Kieran didn’t regret it.
Even though the cabin they shared had no luxury, there was warmth. And that… that had been missing all his life.
Now, with the hunter’s blood still fresh among the leaves, the vampire stood. Weak, but alive.
Mason helped him, with a delicacy impossible for someone so brutal.
He looked at him, tilting his head, his golden eyes turning blue, soft, loving.
—Are you hurt?—
Mason asked, rare for him. He only spoke when it was necessary.
Kieran let out a dry laugh.
—Only my ego… I want to go home. I shouldn’t have let my guard down… sorry for worrying you.—
Mason growled, deep, his furious gaze turning to the hunter’s corpse.
—Then let’s go back.—
And without another word, he picked him up in his arms.
—Hey! I can walk, damn it! —
Mason didn’t reply, only held him tighter, almost possessive, growling low.
Kieran glanced at him sideways, half annoyed, half touched.
—Idiot… —
He muttered, but his hand clung to his shoulder, hiding the smile.
Their species would call it betrayal.
History, an abomination.
But for them…
It was love.
And neither of them would change that.