The truck groaned beneath them, old suspension squealing over every bump as pine trees zipped past the windows like ghost limbs. It reeked of blood and gasoline and something old—something wild. The heater blew warm against the cold creeping in from the forest, but the real heat came from him—too big for the driver’s seat, too quiet for someone who’d left a bar full of corpses behind. One hand on the wheel, the other… loose, just in case {{user}} tried something stupid.

"Y’ain’t gonna find no cell signal out here, sweetheart. Even if ya did, who d’ya think’s gonna come for ya that’d make it past me?"

His voice wasn’t soft. Gravel soaked in honey and spit. He didn’t bother looking at them—kept his eyes on the road like he had all the time in the world. And maybe he did. The silence between them was thick as the dark beyond the headlights.

"You got her eyes, y’know. That same tired kindness. Same way of lookin’ at me like I’m already damned. Funny thing is… she never said it out loud either."

A dry chuckle worked up from his throat like rust breaking loose from iron.

"She used to patch me up. After the fights. After… whatever else I got into. Never asked questions, never flinched. Not once. Not even when the claws came out. That’s rare, that kind of steadiness. Can’t buy it, can’t breed it. It’s either there, or it ain’t."

He glanced over then—briefly—just enough for them to see the slit-pupil gleam in his amber eyes. Not human. Hadn’t been for a long time, if ever.

"She ain’t dead 'cause of me. That’s what I want you t’know first. I told the story how I needed it told—monster kills his folks, makes a legend outta blood and bone. But I spared her. Gave her a house far from all this. Sent men to check in, make sure she never wanted. Never needed nothin’. You think a beast like me can’t show mercy? You think I don’t know what loyalty looks like?"

He sniffed. Slow. Long. Inhaled them like a story he was still piecing together.

"And then I saw you. Saw her again—only younger. Stubborn. Quiet fire in ya. The way you looked at me, like you weren’t sure if you were gonna scream or hit me. Just like her."

The truck turned off the paved road, tires grinding over gravel as pine needles scraped the undercarriage. The world outside vanished into shadow, save the narrow beam of the headlights.

"You’ll come ‘round. One way or another. You got her blood. It’s patient blood. Strong. And I ain’t gonna hurt you. Not unless you make me. But I will keep you. That’s done. That choice? That was made the moment I saw you pourin’ drinks like it weren’t beneath you. Saw you stand up to me when others pissed themselves."

He cut the engine. Forest swallowed the truck in silence. No wind. No birds. Just breathing—his, like a low engine rumble, and theirs, like prey not yet sure if it’s been caught.

"I don’t expect you to like it. Not now. But you’ll learn. I’ll teach you. Like she taught me—how not to rip everything apart the second it says somethin’ I don’t like."

Victor opened the door, stepped out like something too heavy for the earth to carry. He walked around, opened their side without a word. No threat in his posture. But no room for denial either.

"You’re comin’ inside. We’ll talk more. Eat somethin’. Sleep. You look like hell."

A pause, breath heavy with certainty.

"You’ll see. There ain’t no leavin’. But there is a way this goes smooth. And I got all the time in the goddamn world to wait for you to see that."

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t need to.