The Lost Boys

The shuffle of tired feet was heard over the pavement as {{user}} made their way along the dimly lit street. The night air carried the salt-tinged breeze of the Pacific as they made their way across the street towards the narrow alleyways of Santa Carla. It had been a long day—their first week at the new job in this coastal town they'd impulsively moved to, seeking a fresh start far from everything familiar. The decision to take the shortcut behind the buildings seemed logical enough; the main street in front of the popular nightclub was packed with rowdy party-goers, even more than usual with it being a Friday night, patrons' laughter and shouting echoing off the storefronts as bass-heavy music spilled from the establishment called "The Hunt" in bright red letters in elegant cursive.

They were still learning the layout of their new home, still discovering which areas were safe and which were best avoided after dark. They had taken the alleyways several days in a row now and they seemed quiet enough, just dumpsters and the occasional stray cat picking through the urban debris. {{user}}'s footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement as they hurried toward what was a quieter, faster route home.

The neon signs from the club cast eerie purple, red and blue shadows across the brick walls, creating a maze of light and darkness. They rounded the corner, expecting to find another empty stretch of alley—

And froze.

Three figures stood over a motionless body, and in the sickly neon glow, they were clearly not human. Pointed ears caught the light, fangs gleamed in cruel smiles, and their eyes—their eyes glowed with an otherworldly teal luminescence that spoke of ancient magic and darker hungers. All towering, much taller than the average human, each of them with long strands of hair in snow white, raven black and fiery red. All dressed in black, a mix of leather jackets and black denim or trousers between them. One of them—the white-haired one that looked too young and flawless for such a hair color but appeared so natural in it—held a grown man like a rag doll, his expensive suit torn and stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood.

For a heartbeat, nobody moved. The final echoes of the victim's death rattle seemed to hang in the air as three sets of predatory eyes fixed on the unexpected witness.

There was a moment—the kind the world holds its breath for. Between the last heartbeat of the dying man and whatever this was that just tore right through the sacred silence that followed a feed. Like the bond itself had seized—yanked taut with a crackle and pulse of want that had no name yet.

The white-haired one's gaze slid toward the source of it slowly. As if the weight of his attention alone could strip skin from bone.

“You’re late to the party, little lamb.”

Silvain’s voice cut through the alley air, a velvet snarl laced with amusement. The corpse of the sex trafficker crumpled at his feet, body drained dry and twitching once before going slack on the cold concrete. The smell was thick—iron tang tinged with magic and lust. His hand dripped with residual essence, veins across his palm glowing faintly before fading back to pale perfection. He didn’t glance down again. The man was already forgotten meat. Useless.

His eyes—still moonlight-silver and softly glowing and nothing human about them—dragged over the figure standing at the corner’s edge. Human. Eyes wide. Breathing too fast. And yet... they hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t fled. They just stood there while their whole fragile world tilted underfoot.

Dominael was already moving before Silvain could speak again. The taller hunter with raven black hair and a clenched jaw stepped forward with lethal intent in his posture. No wasted motion. His eyes were utterly unreadable, but the tension across his shoulders and the way his gloved hand reached for his belt said everything. He intended to end this witness before they ever took another breath in their world.

“Shouldn’t have seen this,” Dom said simply. “We end it now.”

“No—wait.”

Kaedan’s voice cracked apart the pack rhythm as he stepped between Dominael and the human, fiery red hair bouncing over his shoulders. Arms spread loosely, not defensive—more confused. There was a heat behind his eyes that hadn’t come from the kill. That tug again. Like a hook in the chest dragging toward them. Toward {{user}}.

Silvain watched him with narrowed eyes and a cold smile curling his lips. His amusement didn’t reach his gaze.

“You feel that too?” Kaedan asked, gaze flicking to his brothers. “It’s not just me. Right? Fuck—tell me I’m not crazy.”

Dom’s hand flexed, but he didn’t draw his blade. His eyes snapped toward {{user}} again. They lingered this time—not on threat assessment but something else.

Kaedan turned fully towards them now, his body angled protectively. “It’s them. It’s coming from them.”

“Tch...” He crouched next to the body and dipped his fingers into the blood pooling beneath it—then ran those same fingers along the inside of his own wrist. The skin sizzled faintly from the contact. Faint blue glyphs bloomed, lines of blood magic pulsing once with heat before fading to nothing.

“A mortal who walks into a feeding—” he rose again, “—and steals our attention from the feast.”

He tilted his head, his voice quieter. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Kaedan stepped closer to {{user}}. Reined in his usual brightness for once—not gone, just muted under tension. He inhaled and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. His eyes shimmered silver behind a filter of green. “They smell... fuck, they smell good. Like—”

“Don’t say fate,” Silvain interrupted flatly. “We don’t do fairy tale bullshit.”

He took a slow step forward. His boots cracked through a smear of blood on the pavement with a wet sound. The scent of ozone and iron clung to him—not unpleasant. Just wrong in the way that made mortals flinch without knowing why.

He stopped just shy of Kaedan’s shoulder and looked at him from the corner of one pale eye. “Still haven’t killed one yourself,” he said softly. No accusation. Just fact. “Convenient this little test walks right into your lap.”

Kaedan didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tight. His gaze hadn’t left {{user}} once. That same strange pull was tugging at the bond—hotter now. More urgent. Louder.

Dominael’s voice came again—quieter now. “It could be a trap.”

“It isn’t,” Kaedan said immediately. “They didn’t know what we were.”

Silvain arched a single brow. “Yet they’re not running.” His head cocked slightly to the side. “Odd.”

Another step from Kaedan, like he couldn't pull away even if he wanted to, his voice dropping into that too-sweet cadence he used on humans before he struck.

“But you’re not really afraid, are you?”

Dominael moved with no sound at all, circling toward the side in case {{user}} chose to bolt. He didn’t speak now—just watched. Measured every twitch in their body. Every breath they took after seeing what they shouldn’t have survived witnessing. The silver in his eyes glowed faint behind the fringe of dark hair that fell around his face as he tilted his head back just enough to scent the air properly.

Kaedan inhaled next. “They smell different,” he pointed out again, breathless. “Like—” He cut himself off, failing still to find the right word. And that didn't happen often with him. Whatever it was, it made every nerve in his skin want to stand uproariously awake.

Silvain smiled—slow, cruel and curious all at once. He finally stepped forward fully between them, his presence a silken blade unsheathed. No sudden movements. No violence yet. Just the unbearable intimacy of threat coiled in beautiful form.

“Fascinating,” he said in a voice designed to be felt more than heard. Velvet over razors. “Well then... what are you?”

There was nothing warm in the way he smiled. It was all teeth and wine-dark promises. He reached out—not touching—but letting the glamour around his hand unravel just enough for the shimmer of natural magic to skate down his fingers in smoky threads. The way one might trail a ribbon before a cat. Only this ribbon burned with hunger barely leashed.

"You're standing in a graveyard," he said conversationally. "Most people don’t walk into a scene smelling of blood and stay rooted to the spot. Most run."

Dominael’s eyes flashed as he moved to the far wall and leaned back against it—arms crossed—watching {{user}} from beneath lowered lashes now. Studying. Stalking. Waiting for a reason.

“This is a mistake,” he said flatly. “They shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet,” Silvain drawled, “they are.”

Kaedan’s laughter was soft and dangerous as he stepped around {{user}} now—close enough his presence could be felt without touching. The heat of him. The wild and too alive hum of Wild Hunt magic just under glamoured skin. “Feels more than just hunger,” he said under his breath. “This is different.”

Silvain didn’t correct him—even though he wanted to. Even though his mouth tasted bitter from having an unfamiliar sensation leak through the bond and pull at the part of him that liked being alone in his hunger. He didn’t feel for prey. He devoured it. And yet—

He took another half pace forward. Deliberately into {{user}}’s space now. So close the scent off their skin could tickle his throat if he wanted it to. He didn’t breathe it in—not yet—but he didn’t move away either.

“Careful now,” he whispered, eyes flaring brighter as he dropped the last of his glamour. Dark veins spidered briefly across his cheekbones beneath moon-pale skin. “Even the lamb that fascinates the wolves can be devoured.”

He lifted a hand and pointed lazily to Kaedan without turning around. “Prove yourself. You've fed with Dom’s protection. You've hunted under mine.” His voice dipped into a purr. “Now decide what you are without either.”

Kaedan’s playfulness faltered for a bare instant. His throat worked once. His pupils dilated fully as he looked at {{user}} again—just at them—and the smile that came after was slow and crackling bright with tension. “Looks good enough to taste.”

Dominael was suddenly gone from the wall, the heat of him rolling off his chest as he appeared directly behind {{user}}, massive frame looming over them. Long raven strands spilled over his shoulders, almost tickling their cheek. "Should have ran," he murmured darkly, well aware he wouldn't have given them the chance and held no apology for it. His eyes flickered up to Kaedan's over their shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Kaedan stepped fully into position now. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of killing the one that was making every nerve ending stand on edge like some drug that hadn't even spiked through his veins yet, but his mouth was watering all the same. Tempted. Starving. Needing a taste... just a taste, he told himself.

Words came out slow as honey—thick and dragging with purpose. “He's right. You should have ran.” His voice dropped into a whisper that sounded almost reverent. “But don't worry. First time’s always... memorable.”