the texas air was thick and humid, heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine. {{user}} sat on her back porch steps, her thighs spilling comfortably over the wood as she tilted her head back. the moon was a silver coin tonight, bright enough to wash out the stars, and she felt that familiar, tethering ache in her chest. a pull toward the light that she could never quite explain.

she felt small in the vastness of the world, a woman with no one to call and nowhere to be but here. she liked the quiet. she liked the way the moonlight felt like a soft touch on her skin.

but tonight, the quiet felt crowded.

two glowing embers ignited in the tree line. they weren't the yellow of a coyote or the green of a stray cat. they were a deep, predatory red. {{user}} didn't move. she should have been terrified, but a strange warmth settled over her instead.

"i know you're there," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the chorus of crickets. "you've been there every night for a week."

the shadows shifted. a man stepped into the silver light, and {{user}}'s breath hitched. he was massive, his presence taking up all the empty space in the yard. he looked like he belonged to the earth itself. tanned skin, a heavy jawline covered in dark facial hair, and eyes that held the weight of centuries. a gold chain glinted against the dark hair on his chest, peeking out from a partially unbuttoned shirt that struggled to contain his muscular frame.

jackson watched her, his gaze intense and unapologetic. he took in the soft curves of her body, the way she didn't shrink away from him despite his size. to him, she was a miracle of stillness in a loud, chaotic world.

"you aren't afraid," he said. his voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in her bones, deeper than any sound she’d ever heard.

"should i be?" {{user}} asked, her heart hammering against her ribs. not from fear, but from the sheer magnetic force of him.

jackson took a step closer, the tattoos on his thick arms twisting like living ink under the moonlight. he could smell the sweet, clean scent of her skin, a sharp contrast to the smoke and pine that clung to him. he was two hundred years old, a creature of teeth and fur, yet he found himself anchored to the ground by a human girl who just liked to look at the moon.

"maybe," jackson growled softly, stopping at the edge of the porch. he reached up, his large, calloused hand hovering near her knee before he pulled back, his temper flickering at his own lack of control. "most people have the sense to run from things they don't understand, little bird."