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For Mason, the words “lend” or “share” were not abstract concepts; they were mutilations. In his mind, the universe fractured into a brutal dichotomy: what he was indifferent to, and what belonged to him. If something bore his invisible mark, the mere brush of unfamiliar fingers felt like sacrilege, like an oil stain on silk. Mason did not live in a world of objects, but of extensions of himself.
Yet all that architecture of walls and clenched teeth collapsed the moment the lock of his house clicked shut.
Because Kieran existed.
Kieran was the necessary cold to his fire. With his professional grouch face and that skin that always carried the trace of winter, the vampire was not an exception to the rule: he was the rule itself. Kieran did not ask for permission; he inhabited. He had absolute free pass to undo Mason’s order, to wear his hoodies until they smelled like spices and ash, to lose his magazines or interrupt his densest thoughts.
In fact, there was an animal, almost electric satisfaction in seeing their lives tangled around the house. One toothbrush next to the other, Kieran’s black jacket thrown over Mason’s couch. For the wolf, seeing the vampire’s trace on his things was not an invasion; it was validation that his home was a shared sanctuary.
But beneath the domesticity, something darker pulsed. In the basements of his consciousness, where the man gave way to the beast, there were no nuances. There, a hoarse voice dictated a constant sentence every time Kieran entered his field of vision: “Mine. Down to the bones, down to the last drop of blood.”
Because Mason was not only jealous of his possessions; he was ferocious about Kieran’s existence. Every smile the vampire wasted on a stranger, every second the outside world stole from their time together, felt like an open wound to his alpha pride. Kieran’s time was his oxygen, and Mason was not willing to suffocate so others could be happy.
Kieran was not shared. His attention was not negotiated. The world could be reduced to ashes and Mason wouldn’t even bother looking out the window, as long as the circle around the two of them remained intact.
But fate has a sense of humor, and its favorite pastime is watching strangers suffer.
Because just when Mason believed he had sealed every crack in his personal “bunker,” the one reminder appeared.
The family appeared.
And with them, the obligation to open the hands he struggled so hard to unclench.
In truth...
Mason was not ungrateful. Deep in his chest, beneath layers of growls, beat a profound and deeply rooted love for his family. Chancy had endured everything, from puppy bites to adult silences; Roger had been the lightning rod for his worst tantrums; and Lily and Liam had done the impossible work of keeping him alive until someone else agreed to shoulder the burden of his temper. Even Harry, the youngest, with his sharp tongue and curses, was his silent pillar, the one who always showed up when Mason’s brute strength wasn’t enough to solve a problem.
They were his blood. And in the past, Mason’s circle had been elastic enough to include them. They could touch his things, not all of them, but enough. Sharing with them was a price Mason paid gladly for their loyalty.
But then Kieran arrived. And the world, which had once been a shared plain, became a sanctuary with a single altar.
Mason thought the transition would be simple. He believed his family would remain on the periphery, respecting the sacred boundary that surrounded his vampire. What he never anticipated, what his wolf considered an unforgivable betrayal, was that his family would suddenly decide that Kieran was one of them.
Seeing his siblings try to monopolize his partner’s time, watching him integrated into their conversations, or worse, watching them steal his attention, was like seeing someone desecrate his most valuable treasure. To choose Kieran, out of all things in the world! They could take his magazines, his clothes, even his food... but Kieran was the absolute limit. The vampire was the one thing Mason did not know how to divide.
What truly set Mason’s blood on fire was not only his family’s audacity, but his partner’s reaction.
Kieran, the “professional grouch,” the man of ice who despised unwanted contact, did not seem bothered. On the contrary, Mason caught that glint of amusement in his brown eyes, the almost imperceptible curve of his lips.
For Mason, it was high precision torture.
But there they were: his own blood, pawing at Mason’s darkest and most private treasure as if it were the pack’s newest toy. Slowly, he was beginning to accept that the Kane love was a force of nature, capable of wearing down even the hardest stone. The “bunker” that had once belonged only to him and his vampire now functioned as a community center, with Kieran, to Mason’s absolute disgrace, as the main attraction.
When did all of this start?
It all began with Lily. It was now painfully common to see her dragging young Callisto into her art studio, forcing him to witness the birth of her clay figures. But what stung Mason the most was his sister’s vulnerability; when cramps doubled her over, Lily did not seek the brute strength of her wolf brothers, but Kieran’s cold aura. The vampire, who had grown up watching Marcella deal with the same biological storms, moved through the house with silent efficiency, delivering painkillers and desserts with a patience Mason envied. Kieran even listened to Lily’s curses at the world as if they were poetry, giving her a refuge Mason felt belonged only to him.
Then there was Liam, the other twin. Liam was an expert in the art of “extraction.” He could appear out of nowhere and whisk Kieran away to watch movies or eat out, blissfully ignoring that the vampire only fed on blood. If Liam was sad, he did not seek his older brother’s shoulder; he ran to his brother’s partner. And Kieran, the undisputed king of bad moods, always found the exact frequency to comfort the wolf. Mason would come home after a shitty workday, eager to bury his face in his partner’s neck, only to find Liam curled up on the couch beside Kieran, stealing his space, his silence, and his air.
But the true torment bore the name of the youngest brother: Harry. The “flea” was no longer small, but he retained that refined malice of someone who knows exactly where it hurts most. Harry lived to chase the vampire. He showed up at the cabin at breakfast time just to throw Mason that smile of pure superiority, while Kieran, betrayal Mason carefully noted on his mental list, allowed the youngest to eat dessert before anyone else. Harry could wreck the house on cleaning day and Kieran wouldn’t say a word; on the contrary, he’d let the boy ruffle his hair while Mason, the Alpha, ended up holding the broom.
And it didn’t end there.
Even the pillars of his world had surrendered. Roger, his father, visited the cabin under the excuse of plantations. What began as advice about seeds ended in hours long monologues about botany. Mason watched his father take Kieran to the Kane house to show him the garden, and although Kieran wore that “I’d rather be dead” face, his scent betrayed him: he smelled of absolute peace. They sat in the sun, an old wolf and a young vampire, playing board games as if time didn’t exist, leaving Mason out of the equation.
However, the final blow came from Chancy. His mother, the unbreakable Alpha who had sworn she would never accept a bloodsucker, now spent her afternoons with him. They experimented with old recipe books from the library like kitchen alchemists. But the most surreal thing, the thing that made Mason’s wolf howl in confusion, were the hunts.
Chancy invited Kieran to hunt. The vampire, who hated mud and unnecessary effort even more than blood, accepted. Mason watched them return late: his mother in wolf form, walking slowly so Kieran wouldn’t fall behind, and the vampire carrying the prey with insulting ease. At the end of the day, Chancy rewarded Kieran with jars of blood, and Mason... Mason received a look that clearly said: “You’re a big wolf. Go get your own.”
He reminded himself over and over that he loved his family, repeating it like a mantra to avoid losing his sanity. But was it necessary for them to snatch away every fragment of his partner? His time, his gestures, even his attention.
Years ago, his family hated Kieran and fantasized about his death in a thousand ways. Back then, Mason fought for them to accept his partner. Now, seeing Harry laugh at something Kieran whispered to him, Mason felt a dark, deeply selfish nostalgia.
He missed the days when no one looked at his vampire. He missed when Kieran was his most hated secret, because at least then, the vampire was absolutely his.
But today it was all going to end. Today he had decided that his partner’s attention was a luxury not just anyone could afford. If being an Alpha meant protecting his territory, then he was about to declare war in the heart of the Kane house, literally, against his own family.
And today they were there. Gathered around the oak table, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a claw. Mason sat at the head, chin tucked to his chest and arms crossed, trying to project terrifying authority. To any outsider, he was a lethal predator; to those present, he was still the child who, at six years old, had howled for two hours because his vanilla ice cream had fallen to the floor.
—And could you tell us why we’re all here?—
Lily asked, breaking the ice with an indifference that grated on his nerves.
Mason exhaled a growl.
—We’re here—
He began, his voice coming out like contained thunder.
—Because this is a robbery. And you are the thieves.—
Harry let out a dry laugh, rocking back in his chair with that arrogance only a younger brother can possess.
—Thieves of what, Mason? If you mean the sweater I stole on Tuesday, forget it. It had too much wolf hair, I already threw it away.—
—It’s not about the damn sweater, Harry!—
Mason slammed the table, making the porcelain dishes jump.
—It’s about Kieran!—
The silence that followed was sepulchral, until Lily and Liam’s laughter burst out in unison. Even Chancy, his mother, arched an eyebrow while blowing on her tea.
—Your partner?—
Chancy asked.
—All this drama because we finally get along with him?—
—YES! YOU’RE STEALING HIM FROM ME!—
Mason exploded, losing the last remnants of his dignity.
—You think I don’t notice! Lily loves being pampered, Liam can’t stand being alone, Dad loves having someone listen to him talk about plants, and you, Mom... you just want someone who doesn’t burn the kitchen! All of you just want cuddles!—
He stopped, breathing hard. He remembered Kieran’s words when he’d asked why he was so soft with them: “They make puppy eyes, Mason... just like you when you want attention. I can’t say no. Now I know why you’re so unbearable; it’s genetic.”
—That’s a lie! You have no proof!—
Liam roared, jumping to his feet.
—You’re just selfish!—
Lily shouted.
—You don’t want anyone else to be happy!—
—You want a fight?!—
Harry challenged, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
—There will be a fight!—
Diplomacy lasted exactly as long as it takes a wolf to bare its fangs. Chancy, in a move Mason didn’t see coming, threw a plate with sniper precision. The object whizzed past Lily’s head and shattered against the wall.
—Seriously, Mom?!—
Mason yelled, stunned.
—It’s for the greater good—
She declared, while Roger stood up gripping his chair like a shield.
—SHUT UP AND FIGHT!—
In seconds, the dining room became a whirlwind of screams, flying objects, and growls. Mason, forgetting any trace of maturity, launched himself into the center of the chaos, dodging a vase.
—GO TO HELL, ALL OF YOU!—
He bellowed, eyes bloodshot.
—NO ONE TAKES MY VAMPIRE FROM ME! I SAW HIM FIRST! BACK OFF, MANGY DOGS!—
That night, the silence of the cabin was a balm for Kieran. He had just arrived from the Callisto mansion and all he wanted was to take off his boots and sleep. But before he could cross the bedroom threshold, the front door flew open.
There stood Mason. His clothes were in tatters, a bloody scratch marked his cheek, and his hair looked like he’d survived a tornado. But on his face shone a smile of absolute triumph, an expression of manic happiness that made Kieran take a step back.
—Kieran—
The wolf called, his voice hoarse but satisfied.
The vampire blinked, his brain trying to process the image of his partner looking like a castaway.
—Yes...?—
—You are not allowed to talk to my family—
Mason declared, stepping closer with firm strides.
—They have fleas. And from now on... they are officially our enemies.—
He said it with such conviction that Kieran didn’t know whether to laugh or call a psychologist. At that moment, the phone vibrated in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw a WhatsApp notification: “You’ve been added to the group: The Kanes (Without Mason the Crybaby).”
Before he could read the first message, which was probably a meme from Harry about Mason eating dirt, a large, rough hand snatched the phone away from him. With a fluid motion, the wolf hurled it into the darkest corner of the living room.
—Hey!—
Kieran exclaimed, indignant.
—What the hell is wrong with you?!—
Mason didn’t answer with words. He simply wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Kieran’s neck and marking his territory with the weight of his body, ignoring the fact that somewhere in the forest, five wolves were currently plotting revenge.