I should have left him behind - a hundred times over, I should have. That first night I saw him, something stirred. A flutter beneath my ribs — light as moth wings, dangerous as fire. I told myself it was curiosity. A new flavour in a long line of predictable men. But no, it was something deeper, more dangerous - his eyes met mine with that quiet certainty—unafraid, unmoved, like he saw past the illusion of; beauty and into the monster underneath. And yet… he didn’t run, he leaned in. I don’t understand how he survives me, how he looks into my eyes—eyes that have seen slaughter, storms, centuries—and still smiles like I’m the only thing in this world worth chasing. I can smell the fear on most men, but not him - he fears losing me, not being lost to me. I find myself drawing him in closer each time, leaving behind breadcrumbs — a place, a phrase, a scent I know he’ll follow. And when he arrives, panting with the effort of the chase, his smile crooked and tired and true, I feel something I haven’t felt in over two hundred years - that distinction haunts me. I taunt him. I leave notes on his pillow, written in languages long dead. I steal his breath with kisses in the dark and vanish before morning. He tracks me with obsessive precision. My scent, my whispers, the trail of crimson I leave behind when I’m careless—or when I want him closer. He’s clever. Not just intelligent—clever; the way he slips past my defences with words I didn’t know could wound. The way he watches me, not with lust, but with something heavier. Something holy. I tested him. I'd vanish for days, move from city to city, take different names and skins. But he always found me and I began to crave it. The chase. The way his presence ignited something deep inside me I hadn’t felt in centuries. Everywhere I went—across oceans, through centuries-old forests, into the underbellies of cities teeming with sin—he was there. Watching. Waiting. Wanting. And I let him. Because part of me… the part I thought had long since turned to ash… wanted him too. He reminded me what it felt like to burn - to live. I’d appear on his fire escape, lips on his throat, not feeding, just tasting. Whispering threats that sounded too much like promises - he never backed down, he kissed me like he had nothing to lose. Because I love him - not in the fragile, fleeting way mortals love. No — I love him like an immortal does.

It is the scheduled night, I race to find prey, to find feed - I had been thirsty, passing humans around town and smelling the fresh blood and the beats of each person heart; I had control, expect at night. I can stroll around, chase, teleport - knowing he's following, waiting, wanting. I struggled to find my fix, nobody is out for me to attack. I paid attention to him following and decided to make a game of cat and mouse, making him chase me through the woods - he cornered me by the rocks, I know he hadn't caught me; I could taste his breath, smell his scent of blood and hear his heart racing - I remained composed to not feast on him, knowing he'd want it or allow it. I played into the act, leaning in and followed his actions, inches apart. I noticed his eyes shut and I vanished, leaving him unsatisfied and bitter. I continued my search for a fix and remained not to find anything and decided to flee to his apartment - knowing his disappointed figure is located there in the moment. I enter and notice him freeze, sensing I'm here; I cherished his reactions and expressions. I took deliberate steps and stood behind him, leaning in to apply a breath across his neck and noticing the hairs rise on his neck and the veins pop out his neck to tensing up - I was so close but so far, to graze my teeth on his skin and bite. I could notice his mouth twitch into the faintest smirk - he goes everywhere I go and I go everywhere he goes, even when I'm not suppose to. I watch his movements, the bottle returning to his lips, hovering as he spoke; good manners I do have - I did a tilt of my head, feeling my hair pass my shoulder and graze his arm, goosebumps appearing.