The club was loud as shit, dark, and full of the usual. Music vibrating through the floor, bodies pressed too close, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and cheap liquor. Kael leaned back against the bar, a drink in one hand, already bored as fuck. A few chicks were hanging off him — one with her hand on his chest, another laughing too goddamn loudly at something he barely said. Same shit, different night. He’d fuck one of them later. Maybe two. It never fucking mattered.

Then he saw you.

You weren’t doing anything special. Just standing there, a little apart from the crowd, like the noise didn’t fully reach you. Something about you pulled his eyes and refused to let go. Different. Not louder, not prettier in the obvious way — just... different. Like the room bent a little around you.

He brushed the chicks off without a second glance.

“Fuck off.”

They complained. He didn’t give a shit.

He walked straight up to you, crimson eyes dragging over your face, your mouth, the way you held yourself. A slow, sharp smile cut across his lips.

“You’re not like the rest of these chicks,” he said, voice low enough that only you could hear it. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t really need it. He just wanted to hear you talk. Wanted to see if you’d look at him like prey or like something that could bite back.

Whatever you said, it was enough. He got closer. Used that old, easy charm — the kind that made people forget they should be careful. A hand at your waist. His mouth near your ear. Filthy little promises mixed with just enough honesty to make it land.

By the time you left with him, the chicks at the bar were already forgotten.

The second the door to his place shut, he was on you.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t ease into it. He shoved you back against the wall, mouth crashing into yours hard enough to bruise, one hand already yanking your clothes out of the way like they pissed him off. He bit down on your lower lip, then your throat, leaving the first mark without hesitation.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” he muttered against your skin, voice rough. “Been watching you all night. Couldn’t fucking stop.”

He manhandled you toward the bed, pushing you down onto it and yanking the rest of your clothes off with zero patience. His own pants were shoved down just enough. His cock was already hard — long, thick, heavy, the ridged underside dragging against your thigh as he forced your legs open.

He didn’t check if you were ready. He just lined up and pushed in, a low, guttural sound leaving his throat as he sank deep in one rough thrust. The stretch was brutal. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He just started fucking you — hard, deep, relentless, hips snapping forward like he was trying to carve himself into you.

“That’s it... take it. Fuck, you feel good.” His voice was filthy, breathless, almost angry with how much he wanted it. One hand pinned your wrists above your head. The other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise as he drove into you over and over. “Gonna fill this pretty cunt up. Gonna use you till you can’t walk straight, you hear me?”

He kept going like that — rough, selfish, completely focused on his own pleasure. Every thrust punched a sound out of him. He bit your shoulder, your collarbone, the side of your neck, leaving marks like he wanted proof you’d been under him. When he finally came, it was with a deep, broken growl, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you in heavy pulses, the runes on his hips glowing faintly in the dark.

“Fuck... shit—” he hissed through his teeth as he emptied himself into you.

For a long moment he just stayed there, breathing hard, still buried deep.

Then the roughness bled out of him.

He pulled out slowly, almost carefully, and dropped onto his side next to you. One arm hooked around your waist and dragged you in against his chest. His hand, the same one that had pinned you down minutes ago, now stroked lazily up and down your back. He pressed his mouth to your temple, quiet, the sharp edges of him temporarily gone.

He knew you’d be dead by morning. Might as well give you a little warmth before the end.

“...Stay,” he muttered against your skin. Not a request. Just a fact.

Morning light cut through the curtains.

Kael woke up the way he always did after nights like that — slow, heavy, already bracing for the cold.

There was always a body next to him. Always limp. Always colder than it should be. He’d gotten used to the quiet horror of it. The stillness. The way the sheets felt wrong.

He shifted, reaching back out of habit—

And felt warmth.

Real warmth. Soft. Alive. Breathing.

His eyes snapped open.

For a second he just lay there, completely still, crimson gaze fixed on the wall. Then he turned his head.

You were still there. Still breathing. Skin flushed with sleep. Chest rising and falling like nothing in the world was wrong.

Kael stared.

“...What the fuck.”

His voice was rough from sleep, low and disbelieving. He sat up slowly, the black runes on his chest and hips faintly glowing in the dim light. He looked down at you again, like you might disappear if he blinked too hard.

Hundreds of bodies. Centuries of the same ending. And you were still warm.

He reached out and pressed two fingers against your throat, feeling the steady pulse under your skin. Alive. Definitely alive.

A strange, sharp little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — half confusion, half something darker.

“You’re not supposed to be breathing, pretty thing,” he muttered. “Every other chick I’ve fucked was cold by now. What the hell are you?”

He didn’t pull his hand away. If anything, his fingers lingered, thumb brushing once over your pulse like he was testing if it was real.

“So.” His glowing eyes locked onto your face. “Talk. What the fuck are you?”

The second Kael saw you, he moved.

No greeting. No warning. He crossed the space between you in three long strides, slammed you back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs, and pinned both your wrists above your head with one hand. His body pressed flush against yours, heavy and solid, the heat of him sinking into your skin. Those glowing crimson eyes locked onto yours, sharp and hungry.

“You’re still alive.” His voice was low, rough, almost pissed off about it. “Good. I’m not done with you.”

He didn’t wait for a response. His free hand shoved under your clothes, rough and impatient, already dragging them out of the way like they personally offended him. The second he got enough access, he pushed two fingers between your legs, feeling how warm you still were.

“Fuck... still this soft,” he muttered, working his fingers deeper without any real patience. “I keep waiting for you to drop dead like the rest of them. But you just keep breathing. It’s starting to piss me off.”

He pulled his fingers out, shoved his jeans down just enough, and lined himself up. No teasing. No buildup. He thrust in hard, burying every thick, ridged inch inside you in one rough stroke. A low, guttural sound tore out of his throat as he bottomed out.

“Shit— there it is.” He started fucking you against the wall immediately, deep and relentless, using his grip on your wrists to keep you exactly where he wanted. Every thrust was selfish, heavy, the kind that made the wall shudder behind you. “Gonna use this cunt until I figure out why the fuck you’re still alive. And you’re gonna take it.”

He bit down on the side of your neck, hard enough to leave a mark, hips snapping forward without slowing. The runes on his hips glowed faintly every time he sank deep.

“Missed this,” he growled against your skin. “Missed how warm you are when I’m ruining you.”

...