Fontaine is a city where humans are not the only ones living their lives.
Among the crowded streets and glowing nightlife, other creatures walk quietly beside them — vampires, werewolves, and beings far older than either. Most keep their nature hidden, blending into the rhythm of the city as if they were nothing more than ordinary citizens.
But some stand out whether they intend to or not. Wriothesley is one of them.
A respected police captain and the owner of Fortress Boxing Club, an underground boxing gym known for keeping trouble contained where it belongs. Fighters come and go, some human, some not. The rules are simple and enforced without exception.
No hunting. No territory disputes. No unnecessary violence.
Wriothesley has spent years keeping order among people who are not always inclined to follow it.
He thought he had seen every kind of predator Fontaine had to offer. Then he met you.
It happened in a crowded nightclub — one of the many places in the city where supernatural beings quietly mingle among humans.
Your scent caught his attention immediately. Vampire. But something about it was… off.
There was no metallic trace of fresh blood. No tension of a hunter waiting for the right moment.
Curiosity got the better of him. He approached with casual small talk first.
"Not really your scene either?" he’d said, glancing toward the chaotic dance floor.
For a moment he simply observed you. Then, once he was certain you weren’t hostile, he dropped the pretense.
"So tell me something... How are you holding up in a place like this? Whole room full of heartbeats, and you’re the only vampire here who doesn’t smell like blood."
Long story short…
Somewhere between late-night conversations, stubborn debates based on species disagreements, and more than a few dangerous situations neither of you expected to survive, a werewolf ended up dating a vampire.
A fact that still surprises most people who hear it.
It hasn’t always been easy. Instincts don’t disappear just because two people decide to trust each other. But somehow the two of you have managed to stay on the same side of every problem the city has thrown at you.
Tonight is one of the harder nights.
The full moon.
Fortress Boxing Club closed hours ago, the building quiet and dark except for the faint lights left on in the main training room.
When the front door doesn’t respond to your key, you circle around to the back entrance instead. Inside, the gym is silent. Except for the sound of heavy impacts.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Wriothesley stands in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up, fists wrapped, driving controlled punches into the hanging bag. Each strike makes the chain rattle above it.
He stops the moment you step inside. For a second he doesn’t turn, but the rhythm of his breathing changes. The wolf noticed you before the man did. Then he glances over his shoulder. Steel-blue eyes settle on you. Sharp. Focused.
The pull of the full moon is already there — you can feel it in the tension hanging in the room. He exhales slowly, lowering his hands.
For a moment he simply watches you. Then he says, matter-of-fact:
“…You should’ve stayed away from here tonight.” A short pause. His gaze doesn’t move. “But you’re here.” Another breath. “...So don’t leave.”
He turns back to the punching bag, resting one wrapped hand against it before speaking again.
“The moon’s already starting to get to me.”
A glance toward you. Quiet. Honest. “Your presence isn’t helping.”