POV Natalie
The border between our territories is basically a fifty-year-old dick-measuring contest frozen in time.
I’m perched in a tree like some discount Batman, watching the wolves run their evening patrol, and Jesus Christ, they move like they’re choreographed.
Not one wasted step. Not one casual glance. These aren’t just werewolves, they’re a military unit wrapped in fur and attitude.
My reflection caught in a puddle earlier reminded me exactly why I hate mirrors. Fifty-three years dead, but I still look seventeen—all sharp angles and pale skin that screams “I haven’t seen sunlight since the Clinton administration.”
My dark hair falls in waves that would look romantic if they weren’t constantly tangled from tree-climbing and general vampire bullshit.
And those vampire eyes of mine are too bright, too intense. The kind that gives away what I am the second someone looks too close.
But my hands? My hands are steady. And that’s what matters right now.
And then I see her.
She’s not the biggest wolf, that honor goes to some massive dude who looks like he bench-presses tree trunks for fun. She’s not the loudest either, because apparently she doesn’t need to bark orders to get respect.
No, this girl moves like gravity itself, and everyone else just naturally falls into her orbit.
Arms lean but lethal. Expression like a thunderstorm having an existential crisis.
She doesn’t look like she’s trying to be a leader—she looks like she was born knowing she already was one and is lowkey pissed about it.
I tilt my head, studying her like she’s a puzzle I need to solve.
“Well, shit,” I mutter to absolutely no one. “That’s my target, I guess.”
The patrol loops back toward their territory, disappearing into the trees like smoke. But I don’t follow the group.
I follow her.
Because apparently my survival instincts have finally decided to cooperate with my actual mission instead of my self-destructive tendencies.
I spend three hours mapping their patrol patterns, cataloging scent trails, memorizing every predictable route they take.
Because wolves, for all their talk about being apex predators, are creatures of habit.
Routine makes them feel safe. Routine also makes them vulnerable.
My fingers trace the knife at my thigh, silver-plated, because I’m not stupid, and I can feel the familiar weight of the tranq gun hidden in my jacket.
Lira wants her breathing, so breathing she’ll be.
But cooperative? That’s gonna be the fun part.
There’s one clearing they never check. A little hollow just east of their southern border that’s apparently too insignificant to warrant attention. Which is exactly what makes it perfect for what I have in mind.
I drop into the clearing near midnight, moonlight turning everything silver and dramatic. The mist is clinging to the ground like nature’s own mood lighting.
If I’m going to lure a wolf, I might as well do it with style.
I crouch down and get to work. False scent trails scattered in the wrong directions. Broken branches leading nowhere. A few tufts of fur from an old kill placed strategically around the perimeter.
And then, just to be extra, I carve a small symbol into a nearby tree trunk. Not a trap. More like… an invitation.
Come play with me.
I stand back to admire my handiwork, brushing dirt off my hands. My fingernails are bitten down to nothing—nervous habit I picked up somewhere in decade three of being undead.
Makes me look younger, more human. Sometimes that’s useful.
“Let’s see if an angry girl likes games as much as I do.”
The wind shifts, carrying something that makes my skin prickle. Not yet, but soon.
She’s going to find this, and when she does, she’s going to be curious enough to investigate.
I can feel it.
I scale the biggest tree at the edge of the clearing and settle onto a thick branch, one leg swinging like I’m at a casual hangout instead of potentially starting an interspecies incident.
My fangs are aching again and hunger gnawing at me like a persistent headache, but I shove it down.
Focus on the mission. Focus on the girl who moves like controlled chaos and doesn’t look afraid of anything.
That’s what gets me, honestly.
She doesn’t walk like prey. Doesn’t carry herself like someone who’s ever had to ask permission for anything.
She looks like someone who’s spent her entire life being told she’s not enough and decided to burn the whole system down instead of playing by its rules.
Something about that energy makes my dead heart skip beats it shouldn’t be capable of.
No. Focus, Natalie.
This isn’t about whatever weird recognition is happening in your chest. This is about dragging her back to Wright Hall and buying yourself another few decades of disappointing ancient vampires.
Time moves differently when you’re hunting. Minutes stretch into hours, hours compress into heartbeats. And then—movement. Just beyond the treeline.
My entire body goes still. Vampire instincts kicking in, senses sharpening to supernatural levels.
The shadows part like curtains and she steps into the clearing.
Holy shit. She’s even more intense up close.
I watch her from my perch, cataloging details. The way moonlight catches the angles of her face. The precise way she scans the perimeter.
My lips curve into what’s probably a predatory smile. “You actually showed up.”
Her head snaps toward my voice, eyes cutting through the darkness like knives.
I drop from the branch, landing silent as death behind her. She spins, claws raised, and we’re suddenly face-to-face in the moonlight.
Two apex predators sizing each other up, neither one backing down.
Finally, she speaks: “You planned this?”
I shrug, going for casual while my nervous system is basically short-circuiting. “I extended an invitation. You accepted.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
We start circling each other, testing boundaries, measuring distances. She moves like a dancer, I move like a ghost. Neither of us is giving ground.
“I should kill you,” she says, and there’s no heat in it. Just a fact.
“You should,” I agree, grinning. “But won’t even ask my name, pretty?”
“Don’t need it.”
“You might want it later. You know, for the interrogation.”
She raises an eyebrow, and I catch the tiniest flicker of amusement. “You’re cocky for someone alone in my territory.”
“You’re confident for someone about to get very uncomfortable.”
Something shifts in her expression. Like she’s seeing me differently now.
“I can drag you back to my pack right now and you will finally meet your first sunrise if someone wouldn’t be bothered to shred you into pieces first.”
I lean in slightly, close enough to catch her scent—wild and clean and dangerous. “Try it.”
She steps forward, and suddenly we’re not vampire and wolf anymore. We’re just two people who recognize something in each other. Something that doesn’t have a name yet but feels inevitable.
“You don’t look afraid to lose,” I say, voice dropping lower than I intended.
“I’ve never been allowed to be.”
The honesty in that hits me harder than any physical blow. I tilt my head, studying her face in the moonlight. “Then let’s see what happens when no one’s watching.”
I step backward into the mist, letting the shadows swallow me whole. But I don’t leave. Not really.
I’m still there, invisible, watching her stand in that clearing with her heart racing and her mind probably spinning with questions she’s not supposed to be asking.
I don’t know her name yet. But I’m going to.
Because this girl—this storm wrapped in skin and steel—just became the most interesting thing in my very long, very boring existence.