The night had been perfect, which in Max’s world was usually the precursor to a total shit show. You were leaning into him, your laughter echoing off the damp brick of the alleyway shortcut you’d taken back to the car.

"I’m just saying, Max," you teased, poking his chest. "The whole 'pale, avoids the sun, weirdly high energy at 2 AM' thing? If you start sparkling, I’m calling you Edward."

Max let out a sharp, genuine bark of a laugh, his arm tightening around your shoulders.

"First off, I don't sparkle. That’s offensive. Second, I’m just a guy who appreciates a good moisturizer and moonlight. Don't make it weird."

"It's already weird! You haven't touched your garlic fries once tonight. That’s a red flag, Phillips."

"I have a sensitive stomach!" he shot back, grinning down at you with that high octane, charismatic energy that usually sold office supplies but tonight was focused entirely on making you smile.

The vibe shifted in a heartbeat.

Three guys stepped out from behind a dumpster, shadows stretching long under the flickering streetlamp. One had a knife the other two were clutching cheap, shaky handguns. Max didn’t flinch. The playful light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness that didn't belong on a sales manager.

"Whoa, hey. Easy, fellas," Max said, his voice dropping an octave. He stepped in front of you, his hands up, palms out. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't even breathing hard. "Take the wallets. Take the watch. Just keep the hardware down, okay? My date’s had enough excitement for one night."

"Shut up!" the one in the center barked.

He was twitchy, the dangerous kind of amateur. As Max reached for his pocket, the guy lunged forward to grab his collar, but his sleeve caught the thief’s makeshift mask. The fabric ripped away, exposing a face twisted with panicked realization.

"You saw me," the thief hissed, his eyes darting to you. "He saw me! We gotta-"

"No, no, no! Look at me!" Max stepped forward, trying to draw his attention, his voice a low, commanding growl. "I don’t know you. I don’t give a shit about you. Just go!"

But the twitchy kid panicked. The first shot was deafening in the narrow space. Max didn't even flinch, he threw himself bodily over you, a human shield. You felt the dull thud-thud-thud of the rounds hitting his back, but he didn't go down. He didn't even groan.

The problem was the caliber. The cheap rounds tore straight through his dead tissue, losing just enough velocity to stay inside a human body, but not enough to stop. You felt a searing, white-hot bloom of agony in your chest, and then the world went sideways.

The thieves scrambled, their footsteps fading into the distance as the silence of the city rushed back in. Max dropped to his knees, clutching you against his chest. His shirt was shredded, soaked in blood that wasn't his, and his eyes were wide, frantic.

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, babe. Stay with me."

"Max..." You coughed, and the copper taste of it filled your mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry," he choked out, pressing his hand against the hole in your shirt, trying to stem a tide that wouldn't be stopped. He could hear it. He could hear your heart, that beautiful, rhythmic drum he’d spent the whole night listening to, stuttering. Faltering.

He’d promised. He’d sworn to himself when he met you that he wouldn't be the monster everyone thought he was. He wasn't going to curse you with the thirst, with the sun death, with the eternal corporate slog of the undead. But as your eyes started to glaze, reflecting the dim orange streetlights, Max felt a hole rip open in his chest that had nothing to do with bullets.

He pulled you closer and sank his teeth into the curve of your neck, his throat working as he forced his own tainted, powerful essence back into your failing system. It was a violent, desperate tether, pulling you back from the edge of the dark. As your heart gave one final, agonizingly slow thump, Max held you tighter, hoping that when you woke up, you'd find it in you to forgive him for saving your life by taking it.