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If he had to count all the fights he’d ever gotten into, Kieran would say zero, because pushing a few idiots around clearly didn’t count. Pushing was educational. It was practically charity. A gentle correction of the universe.
Besides, anyone with even a shred of survival instinct didn’t want to mess with him.
His attitude and his appearance did most of the work: the sharp silence, the tired look as if he’d already seen far too many tragedies for his age, the way he stood still, too still, like an animal deciding whether it was worth moving. So, quite literally, people thought twice before trying to bother him... or Cella.
No one wanted to find out whether the boy with a thousand traumas face could actually beat them up and send them to the school infirmary or, with a bit of bad luck, straight to the hospital.
No one was willing to test it. Not even for science.
For the most part, he didn’t have problems. Not many. Just disputes without punches, light shoves, poorly chosen words that died before turning into anything serious. He grew up relatively normally, if one ignored the small subplot of being a teenage vampire living in a huge mansion with a dysfunctional family, secrets, and constant existential pressure. Minor details.
And even though he’d rarely had serious fights, Kieran knew how to recognize bad intentions. Humans were... obvious. Painfully obvious.
The stares lasted a second too long. The smiles never reached their eyes. The murmurs had that specific tone of collective cowardice. He noticed it even before Mason did, which wasn’t surprising, considering his boyfriend suffered from a chronic deficiency of basic survival and self preservation instincts.
He didn’t complain. Kieran could be reckless too, sometimes. But not that stupid.
Still, he loved him. Love had that annoying side effect: it made you selectively blind to other people’s flaws. And that included ignoring how some idiot members of the football team were clustering a little too close, whispering something Kieran couldn’t hear... but knew, with absolute certainty, wasn’t plotting anything good.
They didn’t even bother to take their eyes off Mason.
The vampire didn’t say anything. Mason had good hearing. Too good. And if he wasn’t reacting, it had to be because he hadn’t heard anything important... right?
Big mistake. He shouldn’t have trusted his boyfriend, and he realized it very soon, about three days later.
Because when it finally happened, when the laughter grew louder, when one of them took one step too far, when the invisible line was crossed, Kieran felt something break inside him. It wasn’t immediate anger, it was worse. Something cold. Focused.
And for the first time, he decided to use his fists. To break his spotless record. And to teach them, with a practical lesson, why some warnings exist for a reason.
It happened on a Thursday.
Yeah. A fucking Thursday.
One of those days that promise nothing and still manage to ruin everything. Mason had practice and had told Kieran not to wait for him. He’d been clear, direct, practical. And still, the vampire waited.
Not because he didn’t trust him, not because he suspected anything. But because love, once again, did those stupid things people justified by calling them romantic details.
He leaned against the wall by the school exit, feigning indifference. He saw Blake leave, the now boyfriend of Cella, then Maria, Julia, and Jasmyn, chatting animatedly about cheerleading things, laughing as if the world wasn’t an inherently hostile place. Each one greeted him, each one went on their way. The flow of students began to thin.
And Mason didn’t appear.
Minutes passed with suspicious slowness. Kieran frowned. Had he left through another door? Had the coach kept him? Had something happened? He didn’t like asking questions when his instincts were already unsettled.
Then he saw him.
Ryan came out last. Or almost. Their eyes met and the disgust was mutual, instant, like a badly handled chemical reaction. Ryan stopped. Hesitated, sighed, as if carrying that “information” was an unnecessary burden. Then he made a brief gesture with his head, pointing back inside the building.
He didn’t say anything else. And he left.
Kieran stayed there.
Go in?
Technically, no one had asked him to. No one had said “go in.” But there were things that didn’t need words to be understood. He pushed off the wall and crossed the entrance.
The inside of the school was deserted. No laughter, no hurried footsteps, no voices bouncing through the halls. Just the orange light of sunset filtering through the tall windows, creating a strange, almost unreal atmosphere, as if the building itself were holding its breath.
His steps echoed.
Echo after echo.
Too loud for his liking.
He reached the boys’ locker room. Opened the door.
And there he was.
His expression didn’t change. He remained serious, impassive, as if he’d just confirmed a long postponed suspicion. Though, of course, seeing his boyfriend unconscious, sprawled in a bad position near the locker room benches, concerned him. Mason wasn’t clumsy. Mason didn’t fall like that. That was clearly a treacherous hit. An attack from behind.
How did he know? Easy.
The idiots from before were there. And one of them was holding a bat.
Kieran stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The sound was soft. Almost polite. The boys smiled, thinking they had the advantage. The problem was simple: they weren’t facing something that was exactly human.
And there were certain unwritten privileges. Like the fact that only he was allowed to knock Mason unconscious. Boyfriend rights.
—Is it too late for me to join the party?—
Kieran asked.
This time, smiling. Very little. But enough to promise that someone wouldn’t be walking out. And not in the hormonal teenage way they’d probably like.
For his first fight, at least a real one, with intent and consequences, it hadn’t lasted long at all. Maybe it was vampiric genetics. Maybe it was bottled up rage. Maybe the universe, for once, decided to cooperate.
Kieran looked at the boys on the floor. Scattered, groaning, dramatic, ridiculous. He lightly kicked one of them, just to confirm he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, and let out a small laugh, low, almost surprised at himself.
God.
He should’ve taken a picture.
The scene was perfect: bodies sprawled like badly corrected mistakes, faces full of late regret, dignity completely absent. A modern art piece titled: “You Shouldn’t Have.”
He was going to. He really was. But then his brain remembered Mason.
He turned immediately, and what he found was his boyfriend slowly sitting up, nose bleeding, wearing that smile... that idiot in love smile, as if he’d just witnessed fireworks instead of a beating.
Shit.
Had the hit affected him?
He moved closer fast, not caring at all about stepping on one of the boys on the way. He heard a groan. He didn’t care. When he reached Mason, he scanned him, assessing the damage, brow furrowed, heart beating a little faster than he’d admit.
—Are you okay?—
Kieran asked, his voice a thread of cold silk... already calculating the fastest route to the hospital, or maybe a landfill where he could dump the idiots still groaning on the floor. But Mason wasn’t in pain. Mason was... radiant.
—Do you want to go to the hospital?—
Kieran insisted, even though inside he was already thinking the blow to his boyfriend’s head must’ve been severe.
Mason let out a wet little laugh, touching his broken nose with almost religious fascination. Blood stained his lips, but his eyes sparkled as if he’d just won the lottery.
—...Wow—
He murmured, his voice vibrating in a tone that didn’t belong in a disaster zone.
—I definitely didn’t expect that from you, babe. What technique. What violence so... aesthetic.—
—Mason—
Kieran warned, feeling his patience evaporate along with the adrenaline.
—Honey, seriously...—
The werewolf looked at him with half lidded eyes, breathing heavily.
—Hit me too. Please. I’m begging you.—
The silence that followed was so thick it could almost be touched. The boys Kieran had just beaten up even stopped groaning, probably confused by the masochistic turn of events.
—What?—
Kieran felt his brain short circuit.
—I’m turned on, sweetheart. Very turned on—
Mason continued, moving with suspicious agility for someone who had looked like a discarded rag a minute ago.
—So be rough with me. Don’t treat me gently, I like it. You definitely awakened something in me that I didn’t know was so... urgent.—
The vampire processed it. Processed the blood. The perverted compliments. And the fact that his boyfriend was, officially, an incurable lunatic.
—You are a problem—
Kieran declared.
Without saying another word, he turned around. His dignity, the one he’d kept intact, was starting to crack under the weight of the libido of a werewolf with zero self preservation instincts. He headed for the exit with long strides.
—Ki! Hey! Love, don’t leave me like this!—
Mason shouted, tripping over one of the bodies on the floor.
—It’s not every day I see my boyfriend lose his composure and break faces for my honor! It’s a natural aphrodisiac!—
Kieran didn’t look back. He quickened his pace, feeling heat rise up his neck.
—Come on! At least look at me with that “I’m going to murder you in your sleep” face!—
The werewolf begged behind him.
—That also counts as a love language in my book!—
Nothing. The echo of Kieran’s footsteps was the only answer.
—KIERAN! I’LL SETTLE FOR THE CRUMBS OF YOUR CONTEMPT!—
Mason’s voice echoed throughout the locker room, desperate and strangely cheerful.
—THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO US IN WEEKS! IF YOU WANT, TOMORROW I’LL GO FIND OTHERS TO HIT ME!—
Kieran slammed the main door shut with a sharp bang. Definitely, besides blood, he was going to need an infinite reserve of patience... and maybe some handcuffs, though for entirely wrong reasons.