He didn't give her his name, and yet he seemed to know hers.
"Elena," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with a touch so cold it burned. "Your heartbeat could wake the dead."
Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. His voice was velvet and shadow, each syllable threading into her mind, binding her there.
"How—how do you know me?" she whispered. Her voice shook, though not entirely from fear.
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Names are carried on the wind. Yours is louder than most."
Fear bloomed in her chest, pressing hard against her ribs. And yet, tangled within it was something else—curiosity. A forbidden yearning that made her pulse hammer all the louder. She should step back. She should demand answers. But her feet remained rooted, as if the earth itself wanted her close to him.
The clouds shifted, and the moonlight slid across his face. For the briefest moment, she thought him beautiful—too beautiful. Sharp lines carved from pale stone, eyes like ink shimmering with secrets. But then she saw them.
Fangs. Long, gleaming, like glass knives catching the silver of the moon.
Her breath caught, the air sticking in her throat. She stumbled back a single step. "No… no, you can't—"
"I can," he said softly, following her retreat with the unhurried grace of a predator. "And I am."
Every instinct screamed at her to run, to scream, to fight. Yet when he leaned closer, lips hovering just above her throat, her body betrayed her. She tilted her head without meaning to, exposing the fragile curve of her neck.
Her mind rebelled. What am I doing?
"You're trembling," he whispered, so close now she felt his breath—cool, impossibly cool—against her skin. "But it's not from fear, is it?"
Elena's knees weakened. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, fingernails biting her palms. "Stay away from me," she managed, though her voice was faint, unconvincing even to herself.
His laugh was low, rich, and far too knowing. "You don't want me to."
Her heart hammered, traitorously loud in her chest. She thought of the stories her grandmother used to tell—the warnings of things that walked beneath the moon, creatures with teeth and hunger in their eyes. She had always dismissed them as folklore meant to scare children. But now… now one of them stood before her, close enough to touch.
"Why me?" she asked, her voice breaking. "What do you want?"
For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze lingered on her throat, then lifted to her eyes. Something flickered there—something sharp, dangerous, but also hesitant.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he murmured.
"Try me," she whispered.
He reached out, and though she flinched, she didn't move away. His fingers brushed the pulse at her neck, lingering there, savoring it. "I want… what I shouldn't. What I swore I wouldn't take again."
Her breath caught, words tumbling out before she could stop them. "Then don't."
Silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. He leaned closer, so close she thought he might finally break her open with his hunger. Her entire body trembled, torn between terror and some deeper pull she couldn't name.
And then—he was gone. The night swallowed him whole, as if he had never been there.
Elena staggered, clutching the air where he had stood, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. The echo of his voice clung to her, haunting her ribs like a second heartbeat.
The forest around her was silent, oppressive. She should have felt safe now that he had vanished, but instead, she felt hollow—breathless, wanting, and afraid that he had left only to return when the moon was full again.