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The forest went on with its morning, oblivious to the domestic and sentimental tragedy of a resigned vampire. The early light filtered through the treetops like a golden sigh trembling over the dew specked grass. Every leaf shone as if holding a tiny piece of dawn, yet the air was heavy with that dense silence only truly old places possess... a silence that listens, watches, waits.
The trees breathed an ancient life, bending slightly under the pass of a cold wind that crossed the clearing with the audacity of someone who believes they’re welcome. There was beauty in everything: in the murmur of the foliage, in the hesitant song of a bird still undecided whether to celebrate the new day or warn of its dangers. And amid that perfect stillness, a cabin peeked through, embraced by plants that seemed to grow with affection, like tiny hands protecting it from the vastness of the forest.
From the window, Kieran held a cup of warm blood and watched the scene with the melancholic dignity of someone who has lived too much... and fallen down too many stairs. He let out a soft groan and switched the cup from hand to hand with the clumsiness of someone trying to convince the universe that it didn’t hurt that much.
He had injured his arm. Well, “injured” was a kind way of saying he had broken almost everything breakable. And it hadn’t even happened in a dignified, heroic, or even moderately epic fight. No. It had been an absurd argument, like almost every argument involving his father, his older brother Cedric, Aunt Carmen, and, for reasons he didn’t understand, some treacherous stairs.
The worst part? He had only gone to visit. And just by trying to calm things down, by trying to be a good person for a single day... the stairs decided it was a perfect moment to hand him over to misfortune.
“Better go back to being grumpy,” he thought, had always worked for him.
Of course, the family doctor joked that “at least you didn’t break all your bones.” His father was somewhere between worried and mortified. Aunt Carmen was stifling laughter, because that’s Aunt Carmen and she didn’t know any other way to exist. And Cedric... well, Cedric had sent him around fifty apologies. In person. And via phone, his inbox looked like a panic ridden “I’m sorry” mural.
The only good thing about the whole disaster was that, being a vampire, the fractures didn’t last long. Accelerated healing was an advantage... that still didn’t stop it from hurting like hell. Or from bothering him every time he tried to hold something. Or move his arm, or exist, basically.
He sighed, looked down at his arm, and smiled remembering Mason’s reaction. The werewolf had not taken it well.
It was frankly adorable: teary eyed, worried, with that expression that said, “If anyone else breaks my husband, I will destroy cities.”
And the cutest part: the werewolf, terrible in the kitchen, capable of burning cold soup, literally, had ordered takeout every day so Kieran wouldn’t have to strain himself. And complained that nothing could be better than his own cooking.
Adorable, foolish. And adorable again.
Mason even watched over every movement, helped with cleaning, a task he detested with the passion of a thousand rabid wolves, and even organized the shelves. The vampire seriously considered breaking himself more often just to see him clean without turning it into a twenty episode drama with the broom as the star.
Life was simple that way. Comfortable, gentle.
Too gentle.
Because one night, while Kieran tried to sleep, Mason had been typing on his phone with that weird smile. A smile that said I’m planning something, a smile that said you’re going to suffer, a smile that said it’s out of love, but I’m still going to traum... surprise you.
He didn’t think much of it then. Mistake.
That morning, with the cast already removed and limiting himself to mobility exercises, the vampire tried to push negative thoughts aside. He finished his cup and walked toward the kitchen to place it in the sink.
He suspected nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Until he heard a crack in the wood behind him.
Kieran turned... and nearly fainted. Literally clung to the fridge because his existence had collapsed in an instant.
He wanted to cry. Or wash his eyes with onion, or garlic, or acid. Anything.
—Do you like it?—
Asked Mason’s voice from the doorway.
And there he was.
There.
With a smile that promised chaos.
The werewolf, his husband, his adorable disaster, his muscular, terrifying werewolf... dressed in a sexy nurse outfit. Skirt, lace, stockings.
If there was a god, that god was pointing and laughing.
—Mason—
Said the vampire, blinking as if it could erase the image.
—WHAT... WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?—
Mason walked closer, swaying his hips as if wearing imaginary heels.
—You should see your face—
He said, delighted with himself.
—I planned it for days. The order was delayed, but it arrived just in time. And... well... I thought I could help with your arm rehabilitation, my patient.—
A voice loaded with intention. Too much intention. A ton of intention.
Kieran covered his face, wanting to disappear from the plane of existence.
—Why do these things always happen to me?—
He murmured.
The werewolf gently cornered him against the fridge, putting a hand on each side as if they were in a deliciously bad novel.
—Come on, darling—
He purred.
—I’ve been taking care of you. Not cooking, because I don’t want to kill you. But cleaning, pampering you, feeding you. Don’t you think I earned a little reward?—
The vampire pushed him slightly from the chest, dignity broken but alive.
—You’re horrible to me—
—You exaggerate... You love me like this, you know you do—
Answered Mason, as if it were scientific fact.
Kieran took a deep breath. Tried not to laugh, tried not to cry, tried not to bite his lip because this scene shouldn’t, shouldn’t be attractive. And yet... he smiled. A slow, dangerous, deliciously silky smile, as if conspiring with his own senses.
—So... since I’m the patient—
He said in a silky voice the werewolf always struggled to resist.
—Aren’t you… going to treat me?—
Mason’s eyes sparkled dangerously.
—Oh, baby…—
He murmured.
—That’s how I like it.—
And yes. Marrying a werewolf was a daily adventure: some hilarious, some intense, some mentally hazardous... and others that ended with Mason wearing costumes bought from dubious internet sites while Kieran wondered when exactly his life had become so ridiculously perfect.