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Sometimes the greatest scientific discoveries happen by accident.
Newton discovered gravity with an apple.
Marie Curie discovered radioactivity through sheer effort and brilliance.
Kieran... discovered that his husband turns ridiculously horny under the full moon.
Not aggressive, not wild. Hot, sexy, tireless... and dangerously creative.
The first time Kieran realized his partner had a... lunar problem, he handled it with relative calm. Or well, imaginary calm, the kind that doesn’t truly exist.
Because no one, not even a vampire, is prepared to discover that their werewolf husband doesn’t get aggressive during a full moon...
He gets horny.
Ridiculously horny.
Impossibly horny.
And not “hot” like “oh wow, he looks sexy.”
NO
Hot as in: “someone turn off the walking furnace before the curtains catch on fire.”
The Great Discovery happened on the first full moon the vampire spent living with Mason, in a cabin far too small for so many secrets and such low tolerance for secondhand embarrassment.
That night, Kieran had come back from buying... something. No idea what. He was so exhausted he could’ve bought a yacht, a cow, and a ceiling fan and not remembered. His brain was so fried the shopping list looked like it was written in Sanskrit.
All he wanted was mercy. And if not mercy, then a twenty century nap.
The cabin was dark, quiet. The full moon shone over the roof like a nosy lamp.
Zero warning signs for his vampiric brain. Because sometimes, honestly, Kieran forgot he was married to a werewolf. Full package: fur, claws, fangs, and a natural tendency to break tables “by accident.”
He walked in, dropped the bags on the table, and headed to get changed.
He opened the bedroom door.
And there was Mason.
Naked.
Naked on the level of: “the blanket is NOT helping, darling.” Striking a pose so seductive the vampire stepped back like he’d just seen a ghost.
With a red rose between his teeth, winking. Whispering:
—Hey there, babe.—
Kieran closed the door very gently. Locked it.
Breathed.
—I saw nothing... I saw nothing...—
And went to live on the couch for a while.
The second time, Kieran was washing dishes in his obsessive ritual of: “if this has a microscopic stain, I’ll shatter it.” The moonlight was hitting his face but, as usual, his brain had abandoned the building hours ago.
Mason was in the living room watching TV. Or so he thought.
In reality, behind him, Mason was unbuttoning his shirt like an actor from a cheap movie. With a predatory smile that said: “someone’s gonna sweat.”
Kieran heard nothing. No footsteps, no breathing, not even the belt hitting the floor.
The only thing he felt was two huge hands grabbing him by the waist.
—Wouldn’t you like to do something more fun?—
Mason whispered in his ear, voice set to customer service seductive.
And something... very obvious... touched his lower back.
Kieran jumped. The plate flew. His soul briefly left his body.
He spun around, went into basic vampire defensive mode:
CLANG!
FRYING PAN TO THE FACE.
—WHAT THE HELL, KIERAN?!—
Mason yelled from the floor.
—YOU STARTED IT! I’M WASHING DISHES, FOR GOD’S SAKE! DISHES!—
The damn third time, the vampire was exhausted: work, fixing the house, cleaning the garden some animal had ruined. That garden was his pride because the werewolf had built it clumsily, with more crooked boards than flowers. But Kieran loved it.
He collapsed onto the couch. Thought: “just five minutes.”
He slept ten hours and the full moon was already up.
When he opened his eyes, he felt something wet on his neck.
Kisses, nibbles. A wandering hand advancing without signed permission.
There was Mason on top of him. Perfect smile. Glowing in the moonlight like a hormonal lighthouse.
—Hellooo, darling...—
—NO.—
—No what?—
He asked, hand still advancing.
—NOT THERE, BEAST!—
WHUMP!
A flying pillow.
—NOPE! NO, NO, NO!!—
Kieran shouted, throwing another pillow directly at his face.
—OUT, YOU ABDOMINAL DEMON!—
—This only turns me on more! LET ME LOVE YOU!—
—MASON, I NEED TO SLEEP!—
The fourth time, already near tears, Kieran decided to shower at night. Because his traitor brain once again forgot about the horny wolf in full moon situation.
Warm water, relaxing scents. Zen moment.
He could almost feel the stress leaving his bones.
“Surely Mason is watching cat videos,” he thought with the innocence of a baby.
Until the curtain slid open.
Until a large, hot, obviously naked body pressed against his back.
His brain processed, very professionally and scientifically:
Hot body.
Naked body.
Extremely dangerous body.
And then his brain, yes, the same brain that survived wars, exams, and the chaos of being married to a wolf, screamed:
DANGER!
DANGER!
IMMINENT SEXUAL THREAT!!
Then Mason, glued to his back, lowered his voice into the “I’m about to ruin your life and your spine” mode:
—You know... I can relieve your stress another way.—
He whispered, voice equal parts flirty and homicidal.
At which point Kieran’s brain added the fourth emergency announcement:
EVACUATE!
EVACUATE!
THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!
Result:
BAM!
A vampire right hook straight to the jaw. Mason dropped like a freshly cut tree.
—IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE!!—
Kieran yelled.
—But what part of I’M SHOWERING do you NOT understand?!—
After many... dangerous full moons, Kieran accepted that Mason entered Horny Mode every time the moon appeared round and bright.
It was an irritating, indecipherable biological mystery.
And Kieran had zero desire to solve it.
Thus was born the Red Lunar Emergency Calendar, with many notes.
A protocol designed to withstand horny wolves:
1. Lock the wolf up.
2. Triple lock.
3. Loud music to drown seductive howling.
4. Keep combat pillows on hand.
5. Optional: holy water, just in case.
For his mental health, it was NECESSARY.
In the present, the broom closet was perfect for locking him up. Small, sturdy, and with zero objects Mason could use to climb, bite, or seduce. And, to Kieran’s eternal shock, Mason always fell for the trap.
Always.
Kieran drew another big red circle on the calendar. Mission accomplished. Inner peace achieved. Zero risk of death by horny wolf.
Until:
THUD!
A hit against the door.
—LET ME LOVE YOU, DAMN IIIIIT!—
Kieran closed his eyes like a man who gets migraines through Wi-Fi.
Another hit. Then the dramatic, tragic, over the top telenovela voice:
—KIERAN, MY LOVE!! WE CAN TALK ABOUT IIIIT! OPEN UP! I PROMISE NOTHING! I’M EMOTIONALLY READY! AND PHYSICALLY TOO!—
Kieran took a calm sip of blood.
Inside the closet came another bang. Then an almost offended squeal:
—KIERAN, MY INSTINCTS ARE ITCHING! OPEN THE DOOR A LITTLE! A MILLIMETER! A PIXEEEEEEL!—
The vampire sighed like someone who has witnessed too many tragedies... all of them starring his husband.
—Never.—
He answered in the tone of someone tired of existing.
—KIERAAAAN, I AM A LOVE MACHINE, PLEAAAAASE!!—
—Then turn yourself off.—
He said without even looking at the door.
—I DON’T HAVE AN OFF BUTTON! MY CHEST IS BURNING! MY SOUL IS BURNING! EVERYTHING IS BURNIIIIING!—
—Ah yes, that I noticed.—
Kieran replied, sipping again.
—I’m not opening.—
—KIERAAAN! I’M GOING CRAZYYYY!—
—Excellent. Then you won’t break anything.—
He said calmly.
—YOU’RE BREAKING MY SOUL!—
—We’ll fix it tomorrow.—
Silence.
A suspicious silence.
Then the most serious, fakest, most manipulative voice in the world:
—...what if I promise not to touch you?—
—Lie.—
—...what if I promise to touch you later?—
—Go to sleep, Mason.—
—I CAN’T SLEEP IF I DON’T LOVE YOU A LITTLE—
Kieran rolled his eyes with the precision of a professional.
—Well, tonight you’re loving the broom.—
A pitiful noise came from the closet, somewhere between a howl, a tantrum, and Shakespearean tragedy.
Kieran kept drinking his beverage, completely used to the torture of being married to an emotionally unstable furnace who, once a month, believed romance was a national emergency.