The two of you were anything but normal—he was a werewolf, and you were a vampire.

You sensed it the moment you crossed paths at that grimy little bar: the sharp tang of wildness clung to him, and he caught the cold-sweet scent of blood on your skin. Neither of you said it out loud, not at first. Just a lingering glance, a slow smile, the kind of recognition that only came from sharing a secret with teeth.

That night turned into a conversation. A drink. And after that, you were inseparable.

Cuddling into him—even in wolf form—had become second nature. His thick fur was warm, grounding, and familiar, and he always let out a huff when you nestled into his side like it was the most obvious place in the world for you to be.

You swore his tail wagged every time you walked into the room—especially when you started changing clothes. He’d try to play it off, all grumbling and looking away, but that wildly thumping tail gave him away every time.

Meals were a shared ritual now: raw meat for him, blood for you. He’d raise an eyebrow as you sipped from a goblet like royalty, and you’d wrinkle your nose at the way he tore into steak like it owed him money.

The teasing never stopped. You’d roll your eyes at the tufts of fur left on your sheets. “You’re worse than a golden retriever.” He’d smirk, tug you closer, and mutter, “Says the literal corpse.”

Sometimes, when the hunger got too sharp to ignore, he let you feed from him.

No words—just a quiet look, and then his wrist or shoulder offered up without hesitation. You’d bite, careful, and he’d hold your hips steady, exhaling slow like it didn’t even hurt.

And sometimes after a particularly brutal shift, when he was still coming down from the high of the moon, you’d run a bath. Warm water, low lights. He’d sit between your legs in the tub, head tipped back on your shoulder, while you wash the blood and dirt from his chest.

Martin was stretched out on the couch, shirtless and still a little bruised from the night before, legs splayed like he owned the entire damn living room.

You hovered near the window, making sure the blackout curtains were sealed tight, before coming over. He cracked one eye open as you approached, you sank down beside him, curling up at his side like a cat, and he immediately slung an arm over your shoulders, dragging you in closer.

“You’re cold,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep and leftover adrenaline.