The rain fell in sheets outside, hammering the crumbling roof of the cabin as though the heavens themselves wanted to drown the earth. Inside, the air was warm, lit only by the glow of a dying fire. Shadows clung to the corners of the room like living things, stretching and twisting each time the flames cracked and hissed.

Tiberius stood near the fire, his towering form bathed in orange light. His eyes—unnatural, burning like molten gold laced with midnight—watched the storm through the lone window. He had been silent for what felt like hours, his posture tense, the way a predator went still before a kill.

But he wasn’t hunting tonight.

Behind him, {{user}} sat on the edge of the worn-out bed, her legs drawn up, her gaze fixed on him. She didn’t flinch when lightning illuminated his face, revealing sharp, inhuman lines that belonged in nightmares. His fangs caught the firelight when his lips parted, a flash of white against skin pale as death.

He hadn’t spoken because he was afraid. Afraid of her fear. Afraid of the thing inside him that wanted too much.

When he finally turned toward her, the movement was slow, deliberate. His black hair fell in damp strands across his forehead, framing a face too sharp, too beautiful, to be entirely human.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said at last, his voice low, rough, carrying something wild beneath the surface. The words cracked the air between them, sharp as a whip.

{{user}} didn’t move. “I’m not.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You should be.”

She stood, crossing the small space until she was only a few feet away. He tensed as though proximity alone might break his fragile control. The fire painted her face in golds and reds, the shadows curling around her like curious creatures.

“Why?” she asked softly.

His lips peeled back slightly—not in a smile, but in something caught between self-loathing and warning. “Because I’m not… like you.”

The words were truth and confession all at once. His gaze flickered to her neck, the faint pulse there. Hunger rippled through him like a storm wind snapping a tree. He clenched his fists until his claws—yes, claws when he let himself slip—bit into his palms.

“I could kill you,” he said, his voice breaking on the word kill. “End you before you could even scream.”