He hated him on sight.

The vampire moved through the forest with sharp, precise steps, every nerve on edge. He smelled the werewolf before he saw him—a dark, violent presence that made his chest tighten with fear and fury. Werewolves had killed his mother. This one would not be forgiven.

“Stay back,” he snapped, voice trembling despite himself.

The werewolf laughed—low, dangerous, dripping with contempt. “Or what?”

They clashed in the woods over weeks. Sharp words, glares, tense standoffs. Hate bled into an odd sensation. Every encounter made the vampire’s pulse spike, made him feel exposed, made him want to hide and follow the rules he’d been raised to follow. And the werewolf? The dark pull of the vampire’s scent, the way his fear turned into something else, made his instincts churn, made him ache.

Desire came, slow, heavy, undeniable. Close encounters left them breathless. Hunger, danger, tension—they couldn’t touch each other openly, not with their families watching. But every glance, every accidental brush, stoked the fire between them.

Now, separated by miles, the full moon rose. The werewolf’s control frayed. His claws dug into the earth, nails leaving scars. Muscles tensed. Growls rolled from his chest, low and feral. The farther he was from the vampire, the more violent his instincts became, spiraling beyond reason.

The vampire sensed it from afar, chest tight, fear and desire tangled together. He wanted to run to him, to calm him, but knew that coming closer risked everything.

The forest echoed with the werewolf’s fury and hunger—a storm impossible to contain..

The werewolf knew that this vampire was his FATED MATE.