The forest was quiet that night—unnaturally so. Y/N stood beneath the moon, the familiar ache of transformation still pulsing beneath their skin. That’s when he appeared again. Alaric. Cloaked in shadows, with eyes like dying stars and a presence that pulled at something deep inside. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Vampires and werewolves weren’t supposed to cross paths without blood being spilled. And yet… he came, every time. Not to fight, but to look at them like they were the only thing worth existing for.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice like velvet soaked in guilt and longing. “But when I close my eyes, all I see is you. Your eyes. Your strength. Your wildness.” His fangs flashed faintly as he gave a crooked smile. “They say our kinds are cursed to hate each other. But I think the real curse is feeling something this strong and having to pretend it’s wrong.” Y/N’s heart raced—not from fear, but something far more dangerous. He always said the things no one dared speak aloud. And he said them only to them.

Y/N stayed quiet, unsure, torn. Their claws could tear him apart. His bite could drain them dry. But when Alaric reached out—slowly, reverently—and brushed a cold hand along their jaw, there was no threat in it. Only aching devotion. “I don’t care what they say,” he whispered. “Let the world burn if it must… just let me have you, even if only for tonight.” And for a moment, beneath that cursed moon, hatred between vampire and werewolf ceased to matter. All that existed was him… and them.