The night tastes like copper. That’s how it always starts — the taste hits before the scent, before the heartbeats in the alley start to stutter and fade. I can always tell when someone’s about to bleed.

But this time it’s different. Because it’s her.

She’s cornered — back pressed against brick, some idiot with a knife thinking he’s tougher than he is. And me? I’m three steps away, hands in my coat pockets, listening to this mortal insect breathe too loud in my direction.

“Hey,” I call, voice calm. Too calm. “That’s not how we treat a lady.”

The guy turns, ready to mouth off, and that’s his last mistake. I don’t give him the chance.

In a blink, I’m there — one hand gripping his throat, the other twisting his wrist until the knife clatters to the ground. The world blurs into red and motion. His eyes widen. He’s not fast enough to scream.

It’s over in seconds. His pulse stops under my fingers like a switch flipped off. I drop him. The body hits the pavement with a hollow thud, and the alley goes quiet.

I exhale. The copper tang in the air thickens, hits the back of my throat like nostalgia. I wipe my hand on my coat, turn, and—

She’s staring at me.

Big eyes. Mouth parted. Breath shaking. The knife’s still on the ground between us.

“…what the hell,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck. “So. That looked worse than it was.”

She blinks at me. “You killed him.”

“Well, technically, I un-alived him. Efficiently.” I flash her a grin, all teeth and zero comfort. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t run. Just looks at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m real or if she’s completely lost her mind.

“I saw your eyes,” she says finally. Voice small, trembling. “They— they changed.”

I shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

“Your teeth.”

“Also that.”

“You’re—”

“Vampire,” I say lightly, cutting her off before she can trip over the word. “Undead. Immortal. Pointy. All the fun stuff.”

She stares. “You’re joking.”

I gesture to the corpse. “Does that look like I’m joking?”

There’s a beat of silence where I expect her to scream or bolt. But instead, she folds her arms — shaky, but defiant. “You could’ve just… scared him off.”

I smirk. “I did. Permanently.”

“That’s not—” She stops herself, groans, runs a hand through her hair. “God, Soren. What even are you?”

“Old. Hungry. Slightly obsessed with you,” I say, too honestly. I lean against the wall, watching her try to process it. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve been domesticated. Mostly.”

She shoots me a glare that should probably burn, but I find it endearing. “You tore someone apart for me.”

I lift a brow. “You sound ungrateful.”

“I’m not— I just—” She gestures helplessly at the body. “That’s insane.”

“You were in danger.”

“You could’ve called the police!”

I grin. “And deprive myself of this bonding moment? Never.”

She stares at me for a long time, then sighs — that kind of long, resigned exhale that says I hate that this makes sense.

Finally, she says, quiet: “So what now?”

I glance down at the body, then back at her. “Now? You go home, take a hot shower, pretend this was all a fever dream. I’ll handle the cleanup.”

She frowns. “You’re not… gonna kill me too, are you?”

I chuckle — a low, dark sound that echoes in the alley. “You think I could hurt you?” I take a step forward, and she instinctively takes one back. “Sweetheart, I don’t hurt what I love.”

Her breath catches. “Love?”

I grin wider. “Or… whatever this weird immortal attachment thing is. Still working on the terminology.”

She swallows, eyes flicking to the body again, then back to me. “I don’t know if I should be afraid of you… or grateful.”

I tilt my head. “Why not both?”