You’d always known something was off about Rafe. He was too charming, too perfect in the kind of way that wasn’t real. Everyone seemed to orbit around him like he was gravity itself, and no one ever questioned the weird things. The way teachers let him get away with everything. How people who got on his bad side suddenly stopped showing up at school. Or how sometimes—only sometimes—you swore you saw red on his lips before he wiped it away with the back of his hand, eyes flashing like something wild beneath the surface.

You tried to brush it off. You told yourself you were being dramatic, watching too many late-night thrillers, reading too many horror books. Rafe Cameron wasn’t some monster.

Until that day.

It had been a normal morning. Gray skies. You were tired, your head pounding, and during your third-period class you told your teacher you needed to call your mom. She didn’t even ask questions—just nodded.

You stepped outside, your phone already in hand, and turned the corner behind the old science building, where it was quieter.

And you froze.

Rafe was there.

He didn’t see you at first. His back was turned, hunched over someone slumped against the wall—someone not moving. At first you thought it was a prank, or that they were drunk or something. But then you saw it. The blood. The way Rafe lifted his head slowly, lips stained deep red, like smeared lipstick, except… darker. Wet. Fresh.

You gasped.

His eyes met yours.

Everything inside you went still. You felt your breath catch, the kind of fear that doesn’t just sit in your chest but spreads through every vein like ice water. His face—his real face—wasn’t human. Not exactly. His pupils were blown wide, his skin almost glowing pale, and his mouth… those teeth weren’t just for show.

for the first time ever—he looked stunned.

Frozen.

Like he hadn’t meant for this to happen. Like the mask he always wore had cracked, and underneath it was something raw and furious.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing heavy, jaw clenched. His hands, still slick with someone else’s blood, curled into fists.

Your phone slipped from your fingers and hit the pavement with a sharp crack. Neither of you moved.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he finally said, voice low and trembling with something—anger, maybe. But not at you.

At himself.

He stepped back, dragging a hand down his face, smearing the red across his skin before wiping it quickly on his shirt. The person at his feet groaned, still unconscious, blood dripping from the bite on their neck.

You couldn’t move. Your legs wouldn’t cooperate. Your lungs barely worked.

He looked up again, and this time his eyes burned. Not with hunger—but panic, fury, regret.

Another step forward—this time slower, hesitant.

Your mind screamed run, but fear held you rooted. Something about him felt ancient now, too powerful to fight, too human to ignore.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” Rafe said, voice tight. “Not you.”

You shook your head, barely aware of it. “What… what are you?”

His jaw tightened again. For a second, it looked like he might lie. Then he exhaled, low and bitter.

“Something I can’t undo.”

And then his eyes softened, just for a second.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, almost pleading now. “But you can’t just walk away. You know that.”

He wasn’t threatening you.

But he wasn’t letting you go either.

Not really.