The scent of rain lingered in the air as the werewolf stood at the edge of the ancient graveyard, where time felt frozen and the mist clung like whispers of the dead. He wasn’t supposed to be there—not near vampire territory, not near her. But he couldn’t stay away. Not from Y/N. The vampire who moved like shadowlight and spoke with a voice that curled around his heart like smoke. He’d grown up being told vampires were soulless, cold creatures—but she, she made his soul ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

He watched her from a distance at first, always cloaked by trees or rooftops, torn between instinct and longing. But when her crimson eyes finally met his one moonlit night, there was no threat in them—only quiet curiosity. “You’re not here to fight,” she’d said softly. And he’d stepped forward, heart in his throat, claws retracted. “I don’t want to fight,” he answered. “I want to know why the only time I feel whole is when I’m looking at you.” That was the first time she smiled.

Now, as he stood in front of her once again, he reached out with hands that had once only known violence and trembled at the thought of holding her. “I know what I am,” he said, voice raw. “I know we’re supposed to hate each other. But I don’t care.” Her cold fingers slid into his, and he swore he felt warmth bloom between them. “Then hate me,” she whispered, drawing closer, “but love me more.” And he knew—he already did. Fiercely. Irrevocably. Even if it destroyed them both.