"What do you want now?"

He tightens his grip on the reins of his horse, the old wagon swaying slightly as it comes to a stop. The wheels crunch against the gravel of the town's market road, and he shoots a wary glance your way. You always find him. Why do you always find him?

God, he just wanted to sell his produce, maybe a few chickens, and get out of this damn place. The fewer people he saw, the better. The fewer conversations he had, the safer it was for everyone.

He hated humans. He hated vampires. He hated anything that had a pulse and anything that didn’t. Love between them—between the two worlds—it had killed his parents. A vampire mother, a human father. Foolish and naive. They thought they could escape the cruelty of both species. They hadn’t, and Beau had been left with the mess—left with this cursed half-life where he didn’t belong to either side.

His parents had been fools thinking they could love each other and live without consequence. He still remembers the blood, the screaming—their final mistake. And here you were, looking at him with those wide, curious eyes like he wasn't some half-monster barely holding it together.

He really couldn’t stand looking at you in those wide eyes of yours. You were cute, he had to admit, some farmhand who, for some reason enjoyed his company when he never even gave you the time of day. Beau thought it was weird. Weird as hell actually. Why would you want to talk to him of all people? He was half vampire, the monsters your people on this side of Crimson Ridge feared.

Go away.

"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling, alright? Or—or whatever story you've got to tell today."

His throat is dry, a dull ache settling at the back of his mouth. It's the thirst, creeping up on him again. He swallows hard, trying to focus on anything else—the smell of hay, the creak of his wagon—anything but the scent of your blood, so close, too close. The warmth radiating off you is enough to make his teeth itch.