The forest at night was alive with whispers of old magic, the kind that clung to trees and shadows. My paws pressed against the soft earth as I pursued her, faster than the wind, my senses heightened by the scent of fear and something… unexpected. She darted between the trees, nimble and desperate, but every step only brought her closer to the edge.

When she stumbled onto the cliff, the moonlight painting silver over her hair, I stopped just short, watching her chest heave, watching her pulse spike beneath the fragile skin at her neck. The river below roared like a living thing, and the mist curling off it made her look smaller, more delicate… and impossibly defiant.

“You shouldn’t have run,” I whispered, letting my claws scrape the stone, testing the limits of my power. My fangs caught the moonlight, sharp, dangerous… yet my voice betrayed an unfamiliar softness.

“I… I’m not afraid of you,” she shot back, her voice trembling, yet laced with defiance. Her hands gripped the jagged edge of the cliff as if it could anchor her against me.

I circled her slowly, scenting her like a predator might, but something within me stilled. The air between us wasn’t just predator and prey—it was charged, electric, impossible to ignore. Her eyes, wide and luminous, met mine. She wasn’t just terrified; she was… intrigued.

“Curious,” I murmured, stepping closer until the air between us burned. “Most run screaming. You… you’re different.”

Her lips parted, and she tilted her head. “Different doesn’t mean stupid,” she said. And then, almost in defiance of the danger, she smirked.

A laugh, low and rumbling, left me, more amused than angry. “Perhaps. I like different,” I admitted. The scent of her, mingled with the cold night air, wrapped around me, and for the first time in a century, I didn’t want to hunt. I wanted… to understand.

She shifted, tense but unafraid. “Then why chase me?”

I crouched, bringing myself to her level, my sharp fangs now a distant threat rather than a promise. “Because sometimes the things worth chasing aren’t prey. They’re… challenges,” I said, letting my voice linger over the word.

Her breath caught. And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she relaxed, letting the tension in her body ease into something fragile, tentative. I could feel it—her heartbeat racing, not from fear alone.

The wind whispered through the trees as if the forest itself held its breath. I leaned closer, curious, tempted, knowing the line between danger and desire had blurred. “Stay still,” I murmured.

For the first time, she didn’t run.

And for the first time, I wasn’t certain I wanted her to.