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cherbii · 2 months ago

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CARNAL | Suguru Geto

synopsis -> being a vampire hunter, you’ve sworn to obliterate any vampire that crosses your path, that was until a certain vampire comes into your life, and turns your world upside down.

warnings -> language, violence, biting, blood. SLOW BURN. SLOWEST BURN.

an. if this goes decent, perhaps I’ll do a pt 2 that’s a bit more intimate, and maybeeee even pt 3.

so pls enjoy all 27k words.

You were already halfway through sharpening the blade when the man sat down across from you. You didn’t look up right away. People didn’t come to the back corner of that bar unless they wanted something messy handled. Your knife scraped slow across the whetstone. You only stopped when his silence stretched too long to ignore.

He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Expensive coat, creased at the sleeves from nerves. Soft hands. No callouses. He didn’t smell like alcohol or blood. He smelled like sweat and fear, the kind that soaked through even when you tried to hide it under cologne. His eyes flicked to your blade, then to your face, then down again. You leaned back in your seat.

“I don’t do cheating husbands,” you said.

He jumped like you’d slapped him. “No,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s... there’s something in the woods.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” he said. “People have been going missing for weeks. But not just disappearing. We found a body last night. Drained. Like... dry.”

You rolled your jaw once and leaned forward. “You sure it’s a body and not a story?”

He looked almost offended. “I saw it. I buried it. My sister’s boy.”

That made you pause. You studied him for a moment longer. Then you sheathed the blade and slid the whetstone back into your coat. “Where?”

“Eldenvale,” he said, voice low. “Northern edge. Past the grain mill. There's a trail behind the chapel. Locals avoid it. They say the trees watch you.”

“They always say that,” you muttered, standing. “Payment?”

He fumbled with a leather pouch and set it on the table. It clinked. You didn’t need to count it. You just nodded.

“When I’m done,” you said, and walked out before he could ask what that meant.

You hit the road before sunrise. You packed like always. Light. Layers. Tight black shirt, thick enough to stop a shallow blade but not stiff enough to slow your swing. Fingerless gloves worn down at the knuckles. A dark grey coat, lined, deep inner pockets. It didn’t flap when you moved. Everything you wore was chosen to make you forget you were wearing it.

Two daggers. One serrated. Both strapped to your thighs.A long blade across your back, slightly curved, oiled and resting against your spine.

A pouch on your belt—salts, ground bone, three vials of oil, thin rope, a strip of blood-drenched cloth wrapped in wax paper. Mirror shard in your left boot. Flint ring on your hand.

No silver. That only helped if you were sloppy.

And you weren’t sloppy.

By the time the sun cracked over the hills, you were already deep into Eldenvale. The village didn’t look like much. Just six homes, one chapel, and a collection of hollow-eyed locals who didn’t meet your gaze. You asked one question, where’s the trail, and were met with silence until a girl pointed with one hand while gripping her brother’s arm with the other. You nodded once and followed her direction.

The trail behind the chapel wasn’t marked, but you found it. It wasn’t the dirt path or the breaks in the trees that gave it away. It was the sudden hush. Birds stopped singing. Wind stopped moving. The air grew heavier like it was thick with breath you couldn’t hear.

You stood at the treeline and stared for a while.

You’d hunted plenty of things. Vampires weren’t new. Some were young and cocky, feeding sloppily and burning out fast. Others were old enough to mimic life, move from town to town with forged names and slow kills. You’d ended them all.

The trick was not to think of them as human. Not even close. A vampire was a parasite wrapped in skin. Cold, dead skin. It used memories like bait. It smiled like it meant something. You didn’t flinch when they cried. You didn’t hesitate when they begged.

This job was supposed to be the same.

You stepped into the forest. And immediately knew it wasn’t. You didn’t ask questions when the job came through. A name wasn’t offered and you didn’t need one.

All you were told was a forest, a pattern of drained corpses, and that the locals had stopped going near the trees altogether. That was enough. You packed light, checked your blades, filled the last of your vials with flammable oil, and left before the sun was up.

You didn’t bother saying where you were headed. No one would follow. Vampire hunts weren’t group efforts. They were clean-up jobs. Either you came back alone, or you didn’t come back at all.

The trees changed somewhere along the trail. You noticed it in the way the air thickened, how the wind stopped brushing the tops of the branches. They didn’t sway, didn’t creak, just stood tall and still like they were listening.

Fog rolled in from nowhere. It didn’t sting your eyes or carry a smell. It just existed, slow and heavy, turning the space between each trunk into something deeper than it should have been. You’d been in cursed forests before, but this one made your stomach shift in a way you couldn’t ignore. That meant you were close.

Signs were everywhere if you knew how to look. Dead birds without a mark on them. A fox curled up like it had gone to sleep and never woken up. No bugs. Not even ants. The forest was silent, not because it was empty, but because everything else was dead. That was the thing about older vampires. They didn’t just feed. They consumed. The smarter ones liked to linger. They didn’t just take blood. They took the rhythm of a place, drained the land dry until even the insects stopped trying. And then they moved on.

You crouched by a tree near a dried-up streambed, pressing your fingers into the dirt. It was cold. Not just from the weather, but unnaturally cold. There was no frost, no ice, and still it felt like pressing into stone. You pulled your hand back and wiped it against your coat. That kind of cold wasn’t natural. It meant something had slept here recently. Or maybe it still was.

You checked your gear again out of habit. You didn’t carry crosses. You’d seen too many bastards laugh at them to keep pretending they did anything. Faith didn’t burn the undead. Fire did. You adjusted the blade hidden at the small of your back and kept moving.

Branches cracked far off to your right. You froze. Waited. Another crunch, slower this time. It wasn’t an animal. There was no rhythm, no weight shift. It was footsteps, deliberately placed. Not running. Not chasing. Just moving. You slipped between the trees without a sound. You’d hunted long enough to know how to disappear. Whoever it was, they weren’t trying to hide. That was the first mistake. You didn’t think twice before you followed.

The steps led you deeper, where the fog thickened and light started to die. The trees crowded in, ancient and hunched, roots raised like they were trying to trip you. The ground sloped downward without you noticing, until the air felt thinner and each breath dragged colder than the last. Then the footsteps stopped.

You paused behind a trunk, eyes scanning the clearing ahead. Empty. No movement. No sound. Just a strange dip in the land where moss grew over stone and something like an altar sat, half-buried, old and crumbling. You watched for five minutes. Nothing. You hated waiting, but you weren’t stupid enough to walk into a trap. Eventually, you stepped out.

The clearing was colder than the rest of the woods. The kind of cold that settled into your chest and made your ribs ache. You moved slowly, eyes darting, hands steady. Still no sound. Then you noticed the smell. Not blood, not rot. Something older. Like wet stone, ink, and candlewax. You didn’t like it.

You circled the altar, blade ready. No markings. No fresh dirt. You crouched low, ran your fingers over the moss. It peeled away too easily, exposing dark, almost black stone beneath. Carved deep into it were grooves, wide and curved. Not symbols, not words. Just patterns. You traced one with your glove, and the stone pulsed. Once. Faint, but there. You shot up and backed away.

Behind you, something moved.

You turned fast, blade raised. Nothing. Just trees and fog. But you could feel it. The air changed. Not a wind, not a shift in temperature. You were being watched.

You didn’t call out. That was something rookies did, trying to flush out what they couldn’t see. You just waited, still as you could, eyes narrowing. The thing out there was good. Too good. Even now, you couldn’t hear it. But it was there. You could feel it.

Something brushed your coat.

You spun, slashing low, and hit nothing. Just empty air. But it had been close enough to touch. Close enough to want you to know. That pissed you off more than it scared you.

“Coward.” You muttered.

The fog shifted in response, just slightly. Like it had exhaled.

You didn’t like games. You were here to kill, not play tag with whatever ancient thing thought it could dance around you. You lit the edge of your flint ring and dipped a blade in oil. The flame caught slow, hissing to life, casting shaky light across the mossy stone and damp trees.

“You can run,” you said under your breath, “But eventually you burn.”

A low sound echoed through the trees. Not quite laughter. Not close enough to place. But it vibrated against your chest, deep and strange. You turned again. Still nothing. No eyes, no shape, no movement. Just that presence. And it was watching you like it knew something you didn’t.

Fine. Let it watch. You moved back the way you came, fast and quiet, keeping to the edges of the trees, fire flickering low in your palm. If it wanted to dance, you’d lead.

You made it fifteen steps before something dropped behind you.

You didn’t freeze. You lunged forward and whipped around, blade raised, eyes sharp. The spot behind you was empty. No footprints. No broken branches. Just that damn silence.

You took a breath, slow and careful. The flame on your blade guttered. The forest had never felt so alive.

You backed up a few more paces, then turned and sprinted. You didn’t run from fights, but this wasn’t a fight. This was something else. Something that didn’t follow rules. You needed higher ground. A better vantage. Maybe something you could trap. The thing in these woods wasn’t just old. It was clever. It didn’t kill you when it had the chance. It touched your coat. It circled. It waited. That meant it was hunting too.

You didn’t breathe as the silence held you, your fingers curled tight around the hilt of your blade, flame still hissing along its edge, casting harsh gold light against the bark and the blood-soaked dirt, and even then it felt useless, like lighting a match in the belly of a beast and hoping it’d blink, because whatever was watching hadn’t flinched, hadn’t moved, just remained still in a way that made your spine twitch and your instincts scream that you were being dissected slowly, curiosity before cruelty, hunger held back by something worse. Patience.

That that meant it wasn’t just playing anymore, it was studying, learning the rhythm of your steps, your breath, your temper, and when you blinked.

He was there, not rising from the dirt or dropping from a branch or stepping through mist, just standing, like he’d been carved out of the tree line itself, long black coat brushing the earth, dark hair tied back in a loose knot that made him look almost scholarly if not for the way his eyes caught the flame and glowed faint, gold and hollow, like they didn’t reflect light so much as swallowed it.

You raised your blade without thinking, stance shifting low, calculated, practiced, but he didn’t move, didn’t lunge or vanish, just tilted his head like you were interesting, like this moment was something he’d seen a hundred times before and still couldn’t quite get tired of, and when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected, no hissing threat, no warning, just a smooth, amused, “You’re early.”

And it hit you like ice down your back, not because of what he said but because his voice was soft, human even, the kind of cadence you’d hear in a dusty lecture hall or behind a bar after midnight, and for a second you thought maybe you were wrong.

Maybe this wasn’t the target, maybe he was just some idiot who got too close to the woods, but then he stepped forward and you felt it again, that pressure, that ancient thing in your gut tightening like a knot being pulled, and you knew, you knew without a doubt that this was him.

The thing people whispered about without names, the vampire who left corpses drained so clean not even the scent lingered, and still you didn’t strike, not because you couldn’t, but because he didn’t let you, because every inch of your body screamed that the second you moved, he’d have you, not with fangs or claws or brute strength, but with the sheer weight of whatever was behind those eyes, and that was worse, because you didn’t fear blood or death.

You feared losing control, and this thing radiated control like heat, steady and terrifying, so you did the only thing you could—you smiled, sharp and tired and unfazed, and said. “Didn’t realise I needed an appointment.”

His lips curled like he was genuinely entertained, like he liked that answer, which made you hate him more, made you want to see his throat split open on the forest floor, but he just watched you, hands loose at his sides, like he didn’t need them.

You circled him slowly, keeping space between you, never letting him too close even when he stepped just slightly in your direction, enough to test, to prod, to see how you moved when cornered, and you didn’t give him the satisfaction, you just matched his steps, fire low in your palm, oil catching faint sparks in the mist as he murmured, “You smell like salt and ash,” like it was a compliment.

You said nothing, didn’t let your face move, because if he was trying to bait you, he’d have to work harder, and you’d hunted enough of his kind to know silence could be sharper than blades, but still he didn’t falter, didn’t tense, just kept studying you with those pale gold eyes like you were a riddle he half-remembered from centuries ago, one he thought he’d already solved but didn’t mind working through again.

You hated how still he was, how unbothered, like nothing you did could shake him, so you took the risk and lunged, fast and low, blade aimed at his ribs, but he moved like wind, like smoke, one step to the side and your weapon hit nothing but air, and before you could pivot, he was already behind you, not touching, not pressing, just close enough for you to feel the weight of him, and when he said.

“Careful, hunter. You only get so many swings.”

You spun, furious, fire blazing along your blade as you slashed again, and again he dodged, effortless, like he’d danced this dance before and always won, and you didn’t stop, didn’t let him breathe, blade striking again and again in wide arcs, testing, pushing, forcing him to back up just slightly, until his back brushed a tree and for a heartbeat you thought maybe, just maybe, you’d clipped him.

But he smiled, actually smiled, and then was gone again, vanishing with a grace that made your stomach twist, reappearing several feet to your left with his coat untouched and his voice low as he said, “You’re good.”

It wasn’t condescension, it was genuine, which somehow made it worse, because you didn’t want respect from a bloodsucker, you wanted a reason to put his head in a sack and collect your coin, and you didn’t need his approval to do it, so you kept your blade raised.

“Keep talking, I’ll start charging you by the hour,” and that got a chuckle, short and dry, and then he stepped closer again, just one stride, but enough to make your fingers twitch, and he stopped, hands still loose, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re not from here,” and you didn’t respond, didn’t blink, because you weren’t going to confirm or deny anything for him, not while his fangs were still hidden and his intentions unclear, but it didn’t matter, because he already knew, said, “They always send outsiders. Locals know better. Or maybe they’ve just learned.”

That told you more than you wanted to know, made you realise he’d been here a long time, long enough to make the forest his, long enough that even the brave stopped entering, and the thought of that made your heart clench—not with fear, but anger, because you hated when monsters got comfortable, and this one was lounging in the roots like a king.

“You’ve been feeding.” You stated.

He nodded, slow, almost proud, and said, “Not on the living. Not lately. But they keep wandering close. I take what comes,” and it was too casual, too calm, like he wasn’t lying but didn’t care how it sounded, and you took another step forward, blade glinting.

“You planning on adding me to the pile?”

His smile faded just slightly, like you’d said something that tasted sour, and he said, “Not unless you want to be,” and that made your blood run hot, made your fingers twitch on the hilt because it wasn’t a threat, it was something worse—an offer, and you didn’t want to think about what that meant, what kind of creatures made room for choice before the bite, so you rolled your shoulders, adjusted your stance

“You should’ve run.”

He just stared at you, dark eyes sharp, unreadable, and replied, “You should’ve waited.”

Then, he moved again, not toward you, but sideways, disappearing into the trees without another word, just gone, not a sound, not a whisper, and you stood there alone in the flickering light, blade still burning, heart pounding, because for the first time in a very long while, you weren’t sure if you were the predator anymore.

You stood frozen, blade lit and heart thudding, your breath rising in short bursts through the cold air as the shadows swallowed him whole, and for a moment you thought he might be gone, truly gone, but then his voice came again, drifting from the trees, not loud, not close, just everywhere, threaded through the branches like mist. “You still think this is a hunt?

You spun toward the sound, already knowing it would do nothing, but you answered anyway, low and sharp, “No. I know it is,” and that made him laugh, not loudly, just a soft exhale, amused but not mocking.

“You came in with fire and fury. But now you’re listening. That’s rare.”

You gritted your teeth, replying, “Doesn’t mean I won’t put you down.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Good. I’d hate you to be boring,” and then suddenly he was standing a few feet away again, like he’d stepped out of the dark itself, leaning against a tree with his arms folded, face cast half in shadow, but his eyes gleamed, gold and calm, and he said, “You’re not like the others. You’re angry.”

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer without even thinking, blade low and ready as you snapped, “I’ve lost people. You want the list?”

He shook his head, not mocking, not smug, just quiet as he replied, “No. I already know.”

You hesitated, your breath hitching, because something in his tone made you believe it, like he’d seen it all, felt it through your skin, and you whispered, “How?”

He looked at you for a long second before saying, “The way you fight. You don’t strike to survive. You strike to punish.”

That made your stomach twist, because it was true and you hated that he could see it so clearly, but you covered it with sarcasm, snapping, “You some kind of vampire therapist now?”

He shrugged with a faint smile, replying, “Only if the patient comes armed. That pulled a short, involuntary huff of air from your throat—half a laugh, half a scoff—and he stepped forward again, just once, slow and deliberate, voice quieter now as he asked, “What do they tell you about me?”

You didn’t answer at first, just let the question hang, let the silence wrap around you, and then finally said, “That you’re old. Powerful. A killer. A monster.”

His head tilted again, thoughtful, and he murmured, “They always forget the part where I used to be human. “

You kept your blade up, voice firm as you replied, “You’re not anymore.”

He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself, just nodded slightly and said, “No. I’m not. But neither are you. Not fully,” and that made you blink, taken off guard, and you stepped forward again, blade inches from his chest.

“You don’t know me.” You hissed and his gaze didn’t flicker, didn’t waver, just held yours steady.

“I know grief. I know rage. I know what it does to people,” he replied, and then, gentler, “You’re standing in the dark with a burning sword, talking to the thing you swore to kill. That says enough.”

You hated how much that got under your skin, hated how right it felt, like he wasn’t trying to manipulate you, just pointing out the obvious, and you hissed, “I haven’t killed you yet.”

He smiled faintly, eyes glinting, and said, “But you haven’t left either.” You hated that too, hated that he was right, hated that your boots were still rooted to the dirt, that your blade was steady but unbloodied, that part of you, small and dangerous, wanted to keep hearing him talk.

So you snapped, “Say what you want, but I’m not staying. I’ll finish this. You won’t leave these woods alive.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t snarl or bare fangs, just replied, “Maybe. But if you kill me, you’ll still walk out empty.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He gave you a look like he pitied you, not out of smugness, but because he knew something you didn’t. “You came here looking for peace. You thought revenge would taste like closure. It won’t.”

Your hand twitched on the hilt and you hissed, “You don’t know what I’ve seen.”

“Try me.” Something in his tone made you stop, made your throat go dry, because he wasn’t bluffing, he meant it, like he could carry it for you if you just said it aloud, and that made you furious, because you didn’t want to be seen, you wanted him dead.

“My sister was drained in her bed. My best friend tried to fight one of you and died choking on his own blood. I watched a child stumble out of the woods white as snow and blind because some bastard like you drank her almost dry.” Your voice cracked, and you hated that it cracked, hated that it gave him even an inch of your hurt.

But he didn’t react with smugness or sorrow, just said softly, “Then you’re right to hunt. But not all of us feed like animals,”

“You think that matters? You still kill. You still drink. You still hunt.” You spat.

He nodded, saying, “I do. But not like that. Not anymore.”

You laughed, bitter and cold, saying, “What, you’re reformed? Repenting in the woods?”

He stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t back up, you just stood your ground as he said, “I was like them. Worse, maybe. But time does things to monsters. Sometimes we remember who we used to be. Sometimes we don’t want the blood anymore.”

You shook your head, voice low and furious, “You expect me to believe you just got tired of killing?”

“No. I expect you not to care. But I’m still telling you,” and you stared at him, the way his eyes glowed faint and strange in the dark, the way he never once tried to strike you even when you gave him dozens of chances.

“What’s your name?”

He blinked, and said softly, “Geto Suguru.”

You repeated it, testing it, “Geto.”

He nodded, watching you carefully, and then asked, “Yours?”

You hesitated, then answered, “Does it matter?”

He gave a small smile, saying, “It does to me.”

You looked at him, really looked, and said it, slow and certain, and he repeated it once under his breath like he meant to remember it, and then the wind shifted and the fire in your blade flickered low.

“They’ll send more. After me. After you.”

“You worried?”

“No. I’m used to being hunted. But I’m not used to someone talking to me first.”

That made something strange settle in your chest, something that wasn’t pity or fear, just a flicker of understanding, and you sighed, exhausted, asking, “Why me?”

“Because you didn’t run.”

You pulled back a step, trying to close the space again, and said, “I should kill you.”

He nodded, replying, “You should.” You didn’t reply, because you didn’t know, not really, not when the fire was still hot in your hand and he was right there and you could, but you didn’t, and maybe that was the worst part, because he wasn’t tricking you, wasn’t charming you, he was just there, quiet and steady and real in a way you hadn’t expected from something like him.

So you just stared at him, heart twisting, blade flickering out slowly until only smoke curled from the hilt, and he said, "If you ever want answers, come back.”

You scoffed, voice raw, "To this cursed forest?"

"To me," and then he stepped back into the shadows, and you didn't follow, just stood there shaking with something you didn't have a name for, wondering if you'd just failed your missionor started something far more dangerous.

The woods were too quiet after he left. Not peaceful, just empty. You stood there for a long time, unable to move, the smoke curling from your extinguished blade like a warning you chose to ignore.

The cold sank into your bones, but you didn’t notice until your fingers started to ache. Still, you didn’t move. You replayed every word, every flicker of his eyes, every shift in his voice. Geto. The name echoed in your mind like it had been carved into you, and you hated that it already felt familiar.

You should’ve killed him. You should’ve driven your blade into his chest the second he stepped from the trees. You were trained for this. Born for this. But when you thought of that moment again, blade pressed against his chest. You cursed under your breath and turned on your heel, finally storming back the way you came, twigs snapping underfoot, heart still pounding even though the danger was long gone—or worse, not gone at all.

You didn’t speak of what happened when you returned. You gave them a version of the truth, one with jagged edges and cut corners. “He got away,” you said. “Slipped into the trees. Fast. Clever. Couldn’t keep up.”

They bought it. Mostly. One of the other hunters, Ryuu, the one with too many knives and a constant twitch in his jaw—narrowed his eyes and said, “You don’t miss.”

You just shrugged and replied, “Guess I did.” That was enough. For now. But they were watching you. You felt it. Especially when you asked for another patrol assignment two nights later.

“The same woods?” Ryuu asked, brows raised. “Thought he gave you the slip.”

You met his gaze and said, “That’s why I want another shot.”

He didn’t question it again.

So you returned. Alone. This time with less fire and more quiet. You didn’t light the blade. You didn’t announce yourself. You just stepped into the trees like someone who knew they were being watched, and sure enough, it didn’t take long.

“You came back,” came the voice from the dark, almost smug, but still soft around the edges.

You turned slowly, heart steady this time, and said, “Don’t sound so surprised.”

A figure stepped into view, not as sudden as before, not as shadowed. He looked the same, but there was something different in his posture, like he’d been waiting. “Most don’t,” Geto said. “They run. Or they don’t survive the first encounter.”

You crossed your arms, saying, “Maybe I’m not most.”

That earned you a smile, small but unmistakable. “No,” he said, “you’re not.”

You didn’t talk about what you were doing there, not right away. You just… stood. Close, but not too close. He didn’t approach. Neither did you. He leaned against a tree again like it was habit, hands loose at his sides, cloak shifting softly with the breeze.

“You look different,” he said. “More tired.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know vampires were in the habit of giving fashion critiques.”

He smirked. “I meant your eyes.”

That stopped you. Your mouth opened, then closed again. “Maybe because I haven’t slept much.” You muttered.

“Or maybe because you’ve been thinking,” he said. “Thinking’s dangerous.”

You scoffed. “For you, maybe.”

“For both of us,” he corrected, and something in the way he said it made your stomach knot.

You shifted, letting your hand rest on your belt, not out of threat—just grounding. “Why didn’t you run last time?” You asked. “I could’ve killed you.”

He tilted his head. “Could you have?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t argue. He just said, “Then maybe I wanted to know why you didn’t.”

You glared at him. “Don’t twist this around. I came back to finish what I started.”

“Did you bring your blade?” He asked.

“It’s right here.”

“Is it burning?” Silence. He smiled faintly again, and added, “Didn’t think so.”

You wanted to hit him. Or maybe you wanted him to shut up. Or maybe, worse, you just wanted to hear more. So instead of lashing out, you said, “What are you even doing out here? Hiding? Waiting for someone more gullible?”

His gaze darkened a little, not angry, but like your words touched something old. “I left the others a long time ago,” he said. “They don’t come here. Not anymore.”

“Because they’re scared?” You asked.

“Because they know I won’t follow their rules.” He replied.

“And that makes you better?”

He looked at you, and there was no pride in his face when he said, “No. It makes me alone.” That word hit harder than it should’ve. Maybe because it felt familiar. Maybe because you’d felt the same standing outside tents full of laughter, always on the edge of something you could never step into.

You cleared your throat. “You still kill people?” You asked.

He didn’t lie. “Yes,” he said. “But not the way they do. I take what I need. I make sure they wake up.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?” you snapped.

He didn’t flinch. “It makes it less worse.”

You hated that he had a point. “Still sounds like feeding off the living to me.”

“It is,” he said. “But you’d be surprised how many would rather survive with a headache than die in an alley.”

“You pay them?” You asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I offer protection. Information. Healing.”

“Healing.” You repeated, skeptical.

“You know we used to be priests, once,” he said quietly. “We weren’t always monsters.”

“And yet here we are.” You muttered.

“Here we are.” He agreed.

A long pause stretched between you. The woods breathed around you, full of tension and wind and leaves that whispered things you weren’t ready to hear. Finally, you asked, “So what do we do now?”

Geto shrugged. “You tell me. You came back.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped. “Maybe I just want information. Names. Locations.”

“And you think I’ll give you those?”

“Maybe,” you said. “If I ask right.”

“If you threaten me?” He asked.

“If I talk.” You answered, firmer now.

He looked surprised for the first time. “You want to talk?”

You shrugged. “You said I wasn’t boring.”

His smile widened, slow and amused. “You’re not.”

You sat down before you could think too hard about it, perching on a large, flat stone and watching him carefully. “Talk.” You said.

“About what?” He asked.

“Tell me how you became what you are,” you said. “Tell me why you left them. Tell me why you haven’t killed me.” That last one was quieter.

He walked over, not too close, and crouched near a fallen log, hands clasped between his knees. “I was a teacher once,” he said. “Back when the world believed in holy things. I thought I was one of them. Pure. Righteous. I taught others how to fight monsters.” He looked at you, eyes sharp. “Ironic, right?”

You didn’t speak.

He continued. “I got bitten on a battlefield. One of my own students dragged me out before they could finish the job. I didn’t change right away. It took days. Weeks. I fought it. But eventually… I woke up hungry. Thirsty. And everything I’d believed about purity fell apart.” His voice didn’t waver. “So I left. Before I could hurt them.”

You swallowed hard. “And the others?”

“They found me,” he said. “The ones who’d already turned. They offered me control. Power. A place. I said no. They didn’t like that.”

“So you ran.”

“So I ran,” he agreed. “And I’ve been running ever since.”

You stared at him for a long time. “That’s your great origin story?” you asked. “Not very impressive.”

He grinned, sharp teeth on display. “It’s not meant to impress. You asked. I answered.”

“Why?” You whispered. “Why tell me any of this?”

“Because you’re still here,” he said. “And maybe… maybe I want someone to know. Just once. What I was. What I chose.”

You looked away. You hated him a little, for being honest. You hated yourself more for wanting to believe it. “If I told the others,” you said, “they’d come for you. In full force.”

“I know.” He said, softly.

“So why not kill me now?”

“Because,” he said, and then paused. When you looked at him again, his eyes were softer, almost sad. “Because I think you already have enough blood on your hands. And mine wouldn’t fix that.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because for the first time in years, you weren’t sure what the right thing to do was. And worse—you weren’t sure if you wanted to do it.

You shifted your weight slightly, not out of fear but out of something else, something you didn’t want to name, something that made your fingers twitch around the hilt of your blade even though every part of you already knew you weren’t going to use it.

Geto stood still across from you, his hands still at his sides, making no move to defend himself, not even blinking as the wind stirred the edges of his coat and brushed strands of hair across his face. He looked more like a man than a monster and that was the problem.

Monsters were easier to kill. You could stab a monster, burn it, trap it in a circle and never think twice. But a man with a voice like that and eyes that held too many truths—that was harder.

You swallowed once, slowly, the tightness in your throat making it feel like you were choking on something sharp. “You can’t keep feeding,” you said finally, quieter now. “Not here. Not like this.”

“I haven’t,” he said, and you looked up sharply, watching his jaw tighten like he expected you not to believe him. “I haven’t taken a life since the last hunter came. And I didn’t want to kill him either.”

You stared at him, silent. “So you killed him.”

“I bled,” Geto said flatly. “He didn’t.”

That pulled your mouth into a thin line. You didn’t want to believe him, but nothing about his voice was flinching. “You want me to trust you?” You asked.

“No,” he said. “I want you to decide for yourself.”

You stared at him for another long moment. Then you stepped back, just one pace. “If you’re lying,” you said, “I’ll come back with more than fire.”

“If I’m lying,” he said softly, “I hope you do.”

You turned. You didn’t say goodbye, didn’t glance back. But you felt him watching, not with malice, not with victory. Just quietly. Like someone waiting for a decision that hadn’t been made yet.

The fog swallowed him up before the trees did. You walked until the forest lightened, until the air stopped feeling like it was pressing down on your spine, until the weight in your chest started to lift and you could breathe again without thinking of him. And still, you didn’t feel finished.

You didn’t go back that night. Your instincts told you to get some distance, to give yourself space. The scent of the forest clung to your skin, the faint smell of something ancient hanging in the air around you. That wasn’t the kind of thing that went away quickly. Not when it had settled deep under your skin.

But the next day, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You hadn’t expected this. Not from him. And definitely not from yourself. What had you wanted him to say? That he was an evil thing, a monster in the woods, waiting for the next hunter to wander in? That would’ve been easier to handle. You knew what to do with monsters.

Instead, he had made it complicated. His voice echoed in your mind, his words still hanging in the air like an unanswered question.

You found yourself sharpening your blades again, though they had already been honed to perfection. You checked your vials, adjusted the straps of your pack, even when you didn’t really need to. It was something to do. Something to keep your mind occupied.

It took another two days before you found yourself heading back toward the forest. You told yourself it was because the job wasn’t finished. You hadn’t cleared the area. You hadn’t found the vampire that had been feeding off the locals. But the truth was, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe you were looking for something else. Or someone else.

By the time you reached the edge of the woods, the sun had already begun to dip beneath the horizon, casting the trees in long, dark shadows. The familiar chill was there, the way the air seemed to grow still as if the forest was holding its breath. But this time, you didn’t feel the same sense of unease. Not quite.

You stepped into the forest cautiously, as if the trees themselves were watching you. It wasn’t the fog this time. No, the forest was strangely quiet, as though the world itself had grown still. You moved deeper, each step deliberate, each noise from the forest muted by the weight of the silence around you. You were listening. For something. For him.

And then you heard it. A soft rustle.

Not from the wind, not from the trees, this was deliberate. Someone moving.

You halted, body going still. It wasn’t a trick of the mind. It was real. And it was close.

You didn’t make a sound as you crouched behind the nearest tree, your hand already on the hilt of your blade. You held your breath. The forest seemed to be holding its breath too.

The rustling stopped.

Then came the voice. Low, but unmistakably familiar. “I didn’t think you’d come back so soon.”

Geto.

You clenched your jaw, frustration building, but you didn’t answer right away. You stayed hidden in the shadows, listening, watching. The tension in the air around you thickened. Every part of your being screamed to move, to make your presence known, but something kept you still. Something kept you from giving him the satisfaction.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again,” he continued, his tone casual, as if he wasn’t the one lurking in the woods, as if you weren’t both standing on the edge of something dangerous. “But here you are.”

You stayed silent, fingers tight around the blade in your hand. You didn’t trust your voice.

Another step, and then his figure appeared, emerging from the darkness like he belonged there. His eyes found yours almost immediately, even in the low light. He didn’t look surprised to see you. But there was something else there. Something unreadable.

“I told you I wouldn’t lie,” Geto said, his voice a smooth whisper. “But I also know you have questions.”

You stayed quiet. What did you want from him? What answers were you really looking for?

“I never wanted this,” Geto said, taking another step closer. “I didn’t want to be a monster.”

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Something about his words hit too close to home. You knew what it was like to do things you didn’t want to do. To be someone you didn’t want to be. But the difference was, you could stop. You could walk away.

“Why?” You asked, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you keep hunting, if you don’t want to?”

Geto’s lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something else. “Because I’m good at it. I’m very good at it.”

You couldn’t deny that.

“And what happens if I decide to kill you now?” You finally met his gaze, the question sharp, like a challenge.

Geto didn’t flinch. “You’ll do what you have to do.”

The tension between you both thickened, pressing in on all sides. You wanted to do something. Move. Strike. But you couldn’t. Something held you in place.

Finally, Geto took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not here to kill me, though.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“I think you came back because you wanted to know what happens next.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m not here for answers.”

“No?” He smiled softly, taking yet another step closer. “Then what are you here for?”

Your heart hammered in your chest, but your voice remained steady. “To finish what I started.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Geto’s smile didn’t feel quite so threatening. But you didn’t let yourself fall for it. You didn’t let yourself fall for him.

But still, there was something there, something you couldn’t explain. Something that made the air between you feel electric.

“I’ll let you finish, then.” Geto said, his voice dropping lower, a quiet challenge in his tone.

The forest was still. The world was waiting.

You stood your ground, unsure of everything but one thing: you weren’t going to leave this place the same way you came. And you weren’t going to kill him. Not yet.

You didn’t answer. The air between you both was heavy, the silence sharp as a blade, and it felt like the very forest was holding its breath. You stood there, barely a foot apart, your fingers still wrapped tightly around the hilt of your blade, though you had no intention of using it. Not now, not with him standing so close, his presence like a pull you couldn’t quite ignore.

You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, the way they lingered as though he was waiting for you to make the first move, waiting for you to decide what you were going to do with this moment, with him.

His lips parted as if he was going to speak, but instead, his gaze shifted to the ground, and then back to you, the momentary pause as fleeting as it was telling. There was something about him that made you want to look away, something about the calmness in his eyes that made the anger inside you simmer.

You weren’t supposed to feel this. You weren’t supposed to hesitate. But the longer you stood there, the more you wondered: Why hadn't you already killed him? Why were you still standing here, in this place, facing the man you were supposed to end?

“Why haven’t you killed me?” He asked, his voice a little quieter now, like he was asking the question more for himself than for you.

You tilted your head slightly. His question was unexpected, almost like a confession, a curiosity that sat on his tongue, unspoken until now. “Why do you think?” You responded, your voice steady, but you could feel the strain beneath it, the tension that threaded through every word.

He leaned a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Because,” he said softly, his voice low and almost intimate, “Maybe you don’t want to. Not really.”

The air shifted, and for the first time, you felt the heat of his words settle somewhere deeper than your anger. His proximity had you instinctively tightening your grip on your blade, the cool steel cold against your palm. You took a step back, not because you were afraid of him, but because his presence was beginning to feel suffocating in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m not like you,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I don’t get caught in the mess of it all.”

“No,” Geto said, almost too quickly, like he was waiting for you to say it. “You don’t. But that’s what makes you dangerous, isn’t it?”

You flinched at that. Dangerous? The words were like a slap, but not one that left a mark. He was right. You were dangerous, because unlike him, you didn’t care about the mess of it. You didn’t care about the collateral damage. You killed because it was your job. And it wasn’t just your job. It was your life.

But here, in the depths of the forest, standing face to face with Geto, it didn’t feel like a job.

“Is that what you think?” You asked, the words harsher than you intended.

“I think…” He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, “You’re more like me than you think.”

Something in your chest tightened at that. You didn’t want to be like him. You didn’t want to find a part of yourself in him, to understand his choices, his silence, his presence. You didn’t want to feel the pull of it, the strange magnetic force that had drawn you back here again, despite all the reasons not to.

You stepped back again, but this time, he didn’t follow. Not immediately. He just watched you, the calmness in his expression a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside you. You could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on you, the space between you both suddenly seeming too large, too empty.

“What do you want from me, Geto?” You asked, the words more vulnerable than you’d intended. You hadn’t meant to ask it like that. You hadn’t meant to let your guard down, but it was too late. The question was out, hanging in the air between you like a challenge.

Geto didn’t answer right away. He simply stood there, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made the air seem thicker.

“You know,” he said finally, breaking the silence with the same soft voice, “That’s the thing about us. We’re both caught in the middle of something we can’t escape from. You know it, I know it.”

“Caught?” You let out a bitter laugh, though it held no humor. “What, you think I’m just stuck in some endless game? Some struggle between good and bad, light and dark?”

“No,” Geto said, his voice growing softer. “I think you’re stuck between what you want and what you have to do.”

For a moment, you said nothing. The words echoed in your mind, each one settling a little deeper. He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong at all. You weren’t just a killer. You were someone who had learned to live by the rules, by the lines you drew in the sand. But now… now the lines were blurring, and you weren’t sure how to stop it.

“You’re not like the others,” Geto said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “You could have killed me that night. And you didn’t. You could walk away right now. But you won’t.”

“Stop.” You whispered, your voice trembling slightly, though you hated it.

Geto didn’t stop. His expression didn’t change, but his gaze softened just enough to make your stomach twist. “You’re just as caught as I am. But I think,” he continued slowly, “I think you’re scared to admit it.”

Scared.

The word lingered, making the blood in your veins run cold. It wasn’t fear you felt. Not exactly. You had faced more than your share of dangers in your life, and none of it had made you feel fear. But this? This was different. This was new. And you couldn’t outrun it.

“You’re wrong.” You said, but even as the words left your mouth, you could hear the lie in them.

“Uh-uh,” Geto replied, his voice oddly gentle, like he was trying to soothe the very thing he had just exposed. “I think you’re exactly right. And I think it scares you just as much as it scares me.”

Your hand clenched tighter around your blade, but this time it was more of a reflex than a readiness to fight. “I’m not like you,” you repeated, though the words were weaker this time.

“No…” Geto agreed, taking a small step toward you. “You’re not. But maybe that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know how to deal with it. So you want to push it all away. Push me away.”

It was too much. Too much for one moment. You wanted to scream, to lash out, but all you could do was stand there, feeling the weight of his words, the weight of the truth, pressing down on you like a stone in your chest.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. And for a long, painful moment, you didn’t even know what to feel.

Geto’s voice broke through the silence again, soft but insistent. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t need to.

Because, for the first time since you’d met him, you didn’t feel like you had to.

The silence stretched out, a quiet weight that pressed on you from all sides. For a moment, you weren’t sure where you were, or even who you were. The forest had lost its sharpness, the world outside of you and Geto blurring into the background like a faded memory. All that existed in this moment was the steady beat of your heart, the slow breath escaping your lips, and the strange pull between you both that refused to break.

“You should go.” You said finally, your voice barely a whisper.

Geto didn’t move at first. He didn’t try to argue or push back. He just stared at you for a long, drawn-out moment. And then, without a word, he took a step back, the distance between you growing once more.

Geto sighed. He turned to leave, his silhouette disappearing into the trees, you stood there, your breath shaky, your heart pounding. You didn’t know if you were relieved or terrified. But one thing was certain: the choice had already been made. And neither of you could escape it now.

You stood frozen in place, the words lingering in the air long after Geto had vanished from sight. The forest around you seemed to close in, its shadows deeper, its silence louder, as if the world itself was holding its breath. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest, every part of you caught between wanting to run, to flee from the tension, and wanting to chase after him, to follow the strange, unspoken connection you both shared.

But you didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

You wanted to be angry at him, to shout at him for not letting you go, for making things so complicated when all you wanted was clarity. But there was a part of you that felt almost… relieved. Relieved that he hadn’t tried to push you into something you weren’t ready for. Relieved that, despite the strange pull between you two, he hadn’t tried to force his way into your decisions.

Instead, you turned your back to the forest and made your way back towards the clearing, the weight of the confrontation still heavy on your shoulders. You weren’t sure where to go next, or what to do with the flood of thoughts rushing through your mind. All you knew was that whatever had just happened, it had changed things. Whether you were ready or not, you couldn’t ignore it.

The return to the camp was almost mindless. Your movements were automatic, your thoughts still consumed by the brief encounter. You didn’t pay much attention to the others, even as they greeted you. Their voices seemed muffled, like they were coming from far away, and you were only half-present, still trapped in the moment you’d just walked away from. You were thankful for that. For the small mercy of not having to explain, not having to explain yourself to anyone just yet.

When you finally sat down by the fire, the warmth did little to calm the chill in your bones. There was a knot in your stomach, a twist of nerves you couldn’t shake, and despite the quiet around you, you couldn’t stop replaying the words that had been exchanged. Maybe, but I don’t think I will. You couldn’t make sense of it, not yet. What had it meant? Why had he said that?

And now, sitting alone by the fire, you were left with the impossible task of sorting through everything you’d felt and what it all meant. It would have been easier if it was just hate, or just anger, or even just fear. But there was more. So much more.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you jump. You turned quickly, startled, but it was only one of the others—a member of your group, someone who had probably come to check on you after the strange disappearance into the woods.

“Everything okay?” They asked, a little too casually.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just needed some space.”

“Alright.” They hesitated, looking over their shoulder. “You’ve been a little quiet since you came back. You sure you’re alright?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you even knew the answer to that question yourself. “I’m fine,” you said, the words sounding hollow in the quiet air.

They gave you a long look, but ultimately, they nodded and left you alone. You couldn’t really blame them. You weren’t sure what they’d wanted from you anyway. What could anyone expect you to say after everything that had happened? What could you say to make sense of it all?

The night dragged on. You couldn’t sleep, no matter how tired you felt. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Geto’s face. The way he looked at you before he turned and walked away. That strange sadness in his eyes. That quiet acceptance. You couldn’t make sense of it, but it gnawed at you, digging its way into your thoughts with each passing hour.

The morning came too quickly. You woke to the sound of voices and the bustle of camp life, but it didn’t make you feel better. It didn’t make the knot in your stomach go away. You forced yourself out of bed, moving automatically, but you couldn’t shake the way your heart raced when you thought about Geto.

You tried to focus on the tasks in front of you, but the day stretched out endlessly. Everything felt too slow, too loud, as if you were walking through a fog. You went through the motions. You answered when spoken to. You did your part. But you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

At some point, in the middle of the day, you found yourself walking along the edge of the forest, your footsteps soft against the earth. It was a strange thing to do. You hadn’t even realized you were heading that way until you were already too far in. The trees felt almost familiar, but the quiet wasn’t as comforting as it should’ve been.

You stopped when you saw him.

Geto was leaning against one of the trees, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He didn’t even seem surprised to see you. He just… waited. He was waiting for you, as if he knew you’d show up.

“You,” you said, your voice rougher than you’d intended, “have a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I could say the same about you.”

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you just stood there, looking at him. The tension between you felt different now—sharper, maybe, but not in a way that made you want to push him away. It was something else entirely. It was the knowledge that something was building, something neither of you could control.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” you said, your voice quieter this time, almost like you didn’t want to admit it.

“I told you I wasn’t leaving,” he said, still watching you closely.

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?”

“No,” he said simply, his tone surprisingly serious. “I’m not.”

And then, for the briefest of moments, there was no space between you two. No walls. Just that strange, unspoken understanding.

You weren’t sure what would happen next, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watching him in silence. The way he stood there, so assured, so composed, was maddening. It was like he knew exactly what was going on in your head, even if you didn’t.

He stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between you now. You could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath, and for a split second, it felt like you might be caught in something far bigger than either of you had planned.

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing against his sleeve. The contact was brief, just a fleeting moment, but it sent a shock through you. You pulled your hand back quickly, as if it had burned you, but Geto didn’t pull away. His eyes didn’t leave you, but for the first time since you’d met him, he seemed… uncertain.

“Why do you do this to me?” you asked, your voice shaky now, but you didn’t care. It wasn’t a challenge anymore. It was a question. An honest one.

Geto’s gaze softened even more, the distance between you two shrinking even further. “Because,” he said, his voice quiet, his gaze never leaving yours, “I think you need to understand something.”

You frowned, confused, but you didn’t interrupt.

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you. But he didn’t. Instead, he murmured, “I’m not here to make things easy for you. I’m here because, whether you like it or not, I’m part of this. And I always will be.”

You stared at him, searching his face, trying to make sense of it. But all you found was that same strange certainty in his eyes. The same pull that had drawn you in the moment you’d first met him.

He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek, the contact gentle, almost reverent.

You were frozen in place. His touch sent a wave of warmth through you, making your skin tingle where his fingers grazed you. And for the first time, the tension between you two felt… different. Not suffocating. Not challenging. Just… quiet. But still intense, still undeniable.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

The warmth of Geto’s touch lingered on your skin, a subtle reminder of how close you had gotten. For a moment, everything around you seemed to fade into the background—the rustling trees, the quiet hum of the night, the ever-present tension that had been there between you two. Instead, it was just you and him, standing there, the space between you inexplicably charged.

You didn’t pull away, despite the odd flutter of nerves that twisted in your stomach. His touch, the way his fingers barely brushed against your arm, was something you could hardly comprehend. He was still a vampire. He was still dangerous. But in this moment, it didn’t matter.

Before you could respond, there was a sharp sound. Something cracking. The air shifted, and the peaceful moment was shattered by the unmistakable scent of blood on the wind. You stiffened, your hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at your side, fingers brushing against its cold, reassuring surface.

Geto’s eyes flashed with something darker, his posture suddenly more rigid, alert. “Stay close,” he warned, his voice low.

You didn’t need to ask what was coming. You knew. You had felt the shift before—this was no coincidence. Someone was here, and they weren’t friendly.

You barely had time to react as figures emerged from the shadows. They weren’t human, not by any means. Their pale skin almost glowed under the moonlight, their eyes burning with hunger. The first one stepped forward, a man dressed in dark, finely tailored clothes that seemed out of place in the forest. His dark hair was slicked back, a sharp, angular face that could’ve belonged to any of Geto’s enemies, but not his friends.

"You shouldn’t have come here," Geto said, his tone sharp and cold now.

The man tilted his head, his lips curving into a smile that looked far too predatory to be anything but dangerous. "And you shouldn't have run," he replied smoothly. "But here we are." His eyes flicked over to you, taking in your form with a gaze that was as cold as it was calculating. “And who’s this?” His voice was dripping with curiosity.

“None of your concern,” Geto snapped, stepping in front of you.

The man chuckled darkly, almost as if this was some kind of sick game. “Oh, but she is, isn’t she?” His eyes shifted back to you, and you could feel the malice behind his gaze. “A little human, all alone in the woods with a vampire. How quaint. You’re in danger, little one. You’re always in danger.” He took a slow step forward, but Geto was there in an instant, blocking the path.

“Leave her out of this, Daiki,” Geto growled.

But the man, Daiki, only smirked, his sharp teeth glistening in the low light. “I don’t think I will. You’ve been avoiding us for far too long, Geto. And now it’s time for you to answer for that.” The vampire’s eyes flicked to your face again, his smile widening. “You’re the one he’s protecting?” He asked, as though testing the words on his tongue. “I wonder what makes you so special.”

You could feel the growing weight of their gaze, the way they were sizing you up as if you were a mere pawn in their twisted game. Your breath quickened. They were dangerous. They weren’t like Geto. They were predators—bloodthirsty and manipulative.

The silence between you all stretched, and you could feel the tension rising, suffocating. Another figure appeared behind Daiki, this one taller, his eyes colder, more distant. His presence felt heavier, like an impending storm.

“I see you’ve already made new friends, Geto.” The second vampire said, his voice smooth, but it had an unsettling edge. “And I see you’ve forgotten your place. We don’t tolerate defection. Not from someone like you.”

The first thing that struck you was the way he spoke. It wasn’t just disdain, it was cold, calculating. Like he had no respect for Geto whatsoever. It was clear these vampires weren’t here to negotiate.

The second vampire turned his eyes on you as well, a glint of interest there. “And another human. How convenient. I would say it’s adorable that you think you can protect her, but you and I both know it’s far from that.”

You tensed, the weight of their eyes pressing down on you. But Geto didn’t back down, standing firm as ever.

“We’ll see about that.” Geto said, his voice deadly low.

There was a pause, and then the third figure stepped out from the trees—a woman, pale and elegant, her sharp features almost too perfect to be real. Hair, white as snow, braided into a crown. Her eyes glimmered with bloodlust, and her smile was full of malice.

“Such an interesting little party you’ve got here, Geto,” she purred, her voice soft but lethal. “But let’s be honest, we both know you’re just delaying the inevitable.” Her gaze flicked to you. “And you,” she said, her voice like ice, “you’re nothing but a distraction. But that can be fixed.”

Your heart raced. You didn’t know who these vampires were, at least not entirely. But you could feel the danger in the air. They weren’t here to make peace. They were here to destroy.

“I’m not going to let you hurt her,” Geto said, his tone unwavering. His eyes burned with fury as he stepped closer to you, blocking your view of them.

“Oh, but you will,” Daiki sneered. “We’ll make sure of that.”

The woman, whose name you didn’t know, stepped closer, her eyes gleaming with something darker. “We could always turn her,” she said casually, as if it was nothing but an afterthought. “Then she’ll be ours, too. Isn’t that right, Geto? You’ll have to watch her become something you can’t protect.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You knew what she meant. She wasn’t just talking about turning you into a vampire—she was talking about breaking you. Turning you into one of them. Making you lose everything that made you human.

“No,” Geto said sharply, his voice cold with warning.

But they were pressing. They were moving in. You could feel the sharp hunger in their eyes, the way they circled around you like wolves ready to pounce. They weren’t after Geto—they were after you.

“Don’t worry,” Daiki said, his smile stretching. “This will be over soon. You won’t even know it happened.”

Geto stepped forward, but there was no hesitation in his movement now. His power surged, and you could feel the air around you crackle with the intensity of it. But they weren’t backing down. Not yet.

“Run,” Geto said under his breath, his voice barely audible. “Get out of here. I’ll hold them off.”

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t think. You just ran.

The crack of a whip, the hiss of vampires' movements, and Geto's voice shouting after you all blurred into one. You had to get away. You had to survive.

You didn’t look back. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears was louder than the rustling leaves or the vampires’ movements behind you. You ran as fast as you could, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, but even in your panic, you couldn’t stop the sarcastic part of your brain from kicking in.

You could feel the vampires’ presence behind you, like shadows creeping closer with every step. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, the terrain uneven, but the adrenaline kept you moving forward. You didn’t dare look behind you. You couldn’t afford to. And you definitely didn’t want to see if they were still just watching, or if they were already on your tail.

You knew they were getting closer. You could feel it in the air—their eyes on you, the weight of their hunger pressing down from every direction. They were playing with you, letting you run a little before they closed in for the kill. Typical. Vampires were always so smug, so damn cocky.

Your hand instinctively reached for the weapon at your side.

A voice rang out behind you, smooth and taunting. “You’re quick, aren’t you? But you’re only human. You’ll tire, and when you do…”

It was Daiki. His voice sounded like honey, too sweet for comfort, but it was the underlying malice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You didn’t dare stop running, but you were starting to think that maybe, just maybe, running wasn’t going to be enough this time.

But you had something they didn’t—your sharp tongue.

“Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to catch me?” You yelled back, adrenaline giving you the courage to keep your voice steady. You didn’t have time to be scared, not yet.

“I’ll catch you eventually, little one,” came Daiki’s voice, just as smug as ever. You could hear the grin in it, feel the hunger laced into his words. “I do hope you’re more interesting than the last human we found. They always run, and then they’re so boring when they give up.”

That was when you realized what they were after. They weren’t just here to kill you—they wanted to feed on you. They wanted to savor it. Your blood. Your fear. Your last moments. It was a game to them.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll make it entertaining,” you muttered, not for the first time wishing you’d spent more time working on your escape routes than your snappy comebacks. “But what else are you good for, right?” You grinned to yourself, even though you knew it might be your last.

Suddenly, Daiki appeared in your path, like he had just stepped out of the shadows. His grin was wide, predatory, his eyes glinting with an almost playful hunger. “You think you can outrun me? You’re amusing.”

Without thinking, you swerved to the side, narrowly avoiding him. You pushed yourself harder, but you could feel the exhaustion starting to weigh on your limbs. You had no idea how long you could keep this up, and you were sure the vampires knew it too. They were playing with you, like a cat with a mouse, letting you think you had a chance before they pounced.

“You can’t keep running forever, human!” Daiki’s voice called from behind you.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. You could feel them—three, maybe four, slipping between the trees like smoke, moving in silence but not stealth. They wanted you to hear them. They wanted the scrape of their boots on bark and the click of their teeth just audible enough to make you look. So you didn’t.

You just ran. Not out of fear, not exactly, but because there was no logical argument for standing still when predators were toying with you. Your breath burned but not enough to slow you. Your legs ached but not enough to fail you. The sarcasm that usually buffered your nerves had dried to something cooler, duller, useless here. Nothing clever would save you now. They weren’t the kind to be distracted by wit or charmed by personality. They were vampires, and you were alive. That was the only dynamic that mattered.

The air thinned. Cold bit into your skin as the forest thickened, branches scraping your arms as if trying to slow you down themselves. You’d seen Daiki’s face for all of three seconds—smiling, beautiful, and full of rot. That kind of hunger didn’t negotiate. It prolonged.

He’d called you amusing. You’d call him predictable, but there wasn’t time to say it out loud. Not when you could feel the weight of them behind you, not when you could almost hear their jaws unclenching.

You slipped once, knees digging into the dirt, a branch snapping under your hand as you righted yourself. Somewhere behind you, one of them laughed—a short, dry sound, like the punchline of a joke you weren’t supposed to get.

You moved faster after that. Smarter. Not just forward, but winding, ducking behind trees, changing elevation. It didn’t matter. They were faster. Hungrier. And it was only a matter of time before they decided to get serious.

You were halfway through a thought—something bitter about the cruelty of dying in the exact woods you’d almost started to trust, when a hand grabbed you.

Not from behind. Not from the side. You shouted, twisted, instinct flaring—but the grip didn’t tighten. It didn’t drag you down. It lifted.

One blur and you were airborne, pulled violently through the air, chest slamming into a solid figure just long enough for the breath to be knocked out of you. And then movement. Trees bending backward. Leaves slicing past your cheeks. The rhythm of impossible speed and a body carrying you like you were weightless.

You barely registered it was Geto until you were on the ground again.

Not hard. Not soft. Stone beneath your back. Cold. Hidden. A hollow between rock and root where the light couldn’t find you. He’d taken you underground, or close enough. You blinked against the dark, confused, heartbeat skittering against the inside of your ribs like it wanted out.

“Geto—.” You started, your voice ragged, your mind trying to catch up to what had just happened.

But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look like himself. Not angry. Not smug. Just focused. Distant in that way that meant he’d already made up his mind.

You reached for your blade, but your hand didn’t quite get there.

He was already moving.

The weight of him pressed against you—not crushing, not even rough, but final. His hand braced your jaw gently, tilting your head, and for one breathless second, you thought maybe he was going to tell you something. Explain. Warn you. Anything.

He didn’t.

There was no sound. No warning. Just the shock of pain.

Sharp. Piercing. Not like a knife, but like something older, more primal—teeth breaking skin, digging deep, drawing heat from the source.

You froze.

It didn’t feel real at first. Just wrong. The sensation flooded your neck and shoulder, searing like a current, your body stiffening with the overload of it. Your limbs kicked, uselessly. Your fingers clawed at his coat, your voice catching in your throat before you could scream. But there was no space for noise.

Only heat. Only pressure. Only the draining ache of something being pulled from you that you didn’t have a name for.

Pain, hot and searing and unlike anything you had ever felt, lit up every nerve in your body like wildfire tearing through dry grass, and for a long, stunned moment, you didn’t understand what had happened—you couldn’t, because it was impossible to think, impossible to breathe, impossible to do anything but feel it, the puncture, the pull, the agony that spread outward like ripples on the surface of still water disturbed by a stone dropped with brutal intention.

The forest around you became a distant blur, reduced to colours and shadows, movement and sound dimming under the overwhelming roar of blood rushing in your ears, and even Geto’s form, so close and crushing, was reduced to pressure and warmth and a voice you barely heard over the ringing behind your eyes, the soft sound of his breath hissing through his teeth as he held you like he was trying to stop you from breaking apart, except he was the one doing the breaking, and you knew it.

Somewhere in the haze that this wasn’t mercy or cruelty or love, it was desperation, the kind that hollowed a man out and filled him with fire, and maybe he hadn’t meant to but he had done it anyway, bitten down with fangs you hadn’t known he would ever use on you, teeth piercing skin and sinking in like they were always meant to, and you’d never imagined it would hurt so much, or that it would feel so intimate.

Like your soul was being peeled back and examined and taken, bit by bit, the pain folding in on itself until it stopped being pain and started being something else, something deeper, more primal, like being rewritten from the inside out, every cell screaming and curling inwards under the weight of change, like your body was rejecting itself and rebuilding at once, and through it all, through the sharpness and the sting and the unbearable heat.

There was his voice, low and broken and saying something you couldn’t understand, not with your mind unmoored and your muscles locking and your throat choking on the scream that never quite made it out, and you wanted to ask him why—why he did it, why he didn’t warn you, why he had to ruin what little was left of you—but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think straight, not when the pain twisted into something electric and cold and hot all at once, like being plunged into ice water and dragged through flame.

Then the world started to slip, the colours bleeding into each other, the trees turning into shapes and the sky pressing down, heavy and uncaring, and you tried to hold on, to anchor yourself to something, but the only thing there was him, his hands gripping your shoulders too tightly, his breath ragged against your ear, and the faint, terrible whisper of your name like it was the last thing tethering him to his own humanity—and yours, too, maybe—but you were slipping, drowning, and you didn’t know how to stop it, didn’t know if you wanted to, because whatever this was, it was better than being caught by those monsters, better than being dragged out and torn apart like some sacrificial animal.

Geto had always been a monster too, hadn’t he?

You had just never seen this side of him before, not like this, not with your blood on his lips and his arms keeping you upright as your legs gave out and your head lolled and your body turned to lead, and in the flickering moments before your vision finally gave up on you, you thought you saw guilt in his eyes, not hunger, not power, not satisfaction—but regret, plain and deep and old, and it made you want to laugh even though you couldn’t breathe, because he always did that, didn’t he?

Made decisions for you, pulled the strings and waited to see if you noticed, except this time there was no going back, no clever remark that could unmake what had been done, and as the darkness swelled and bloomed at the edges of your vision, you let yourself fall into it, not because you trusted him, but because you were too tired to fight anymore, too tired to scream, and somewhere, before everything disappeared completely, you thought you heard him whisper sorry, not like a man apologising for a mistake, but like one mourning the thing he had just killed.

You awoke to stillness but not peace. The air was heavy, unmoving, thick with damp stone and the faint metallic scent of blood. Your blood. You knew it before your eyes even opened, before your hands had the strength to twitch. The pain from earlier had faded but not vanished, replaced instead with a dull throb that sat behind your ribs and in the hollow of your throat.

You opened your eyes slowly and at first, saw nothing, just the darkness that clung to the room like rot. Then, shapes began to form, faint outlines of stone walls and narrow windows, barely wide enough to let in a sliver of the moonlight that painted the floor silver. You were lying on something rough, old wool or a blanket left too long in the cold, and the taste in your mouth was copper sharp and dry.

You turned your head slightly and caught sight of him. Geto sat just beyond reach, back against the wall, one knee bent, arms resting loosely. He did not move when he noticed your gaze, only looked at you, that same unreadable expression carved into his features like stone. There was no smile, no apology yet, only silence.

You stared at him for a long moment, then blinked hard, the pieces in your mind beginning to shift into place. You remembered the trees, the shadows, the sound of footsteps behind you like wolves circling.

You remembered the fear, sharp and real and rising, the taunting voices, the claw of hunger from creatures that never had to breathe yet always hungered. And then him. The blur of black fabric and sudden movement, the way his arms closed around you like steel, how the forest had vanished in a rush of motion and heartbeat.

You remembered him murmuring something, but not the words, only the weight of his breath against your temple, and then the teeth. You touched your neck slowly and winced. The skin was torn, scabbed over, but still hot to the touch. Your throat felt raw, as though something had been taken and never returned.

You did not speak at once. He did not offer words. Only when your voice came, dry and sharp, did the stillness break. You said, quietly, “That was a fine rescue, if the plan was to kill me instead.”

Geto let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “If I had wanted you dead, you would be.”

You sat up, slowly, every muscle aching, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “So what is this then. What have you done?”

He met your gaze, and his answer came without hesitation. “I turned you. To save you.”

Your breath caught, more from fury than shock. “You what?”

“You were not going to outrun them. Not all of them. Daiki would have torn you apart for the joy of it, and Tsutomu would have kept you alive just to make it last. You would not have made it to sunrise.”

“So you decided to do what, exactly. Rip out what was left of me before they could.” Your voice had sharpened but not broken. You were angry, furious, and somewhere beneath it, frightened, though you would rather die again than admit it aloud.

Geto stood then, finally, and took a step closer. He did not loom or threaten. “I did what I had to. There was no time to ask, no time to explain. You were going to die and you would not have died well.”

You looked away, jaw clenched, and tried to piece together the screaming inside your head. “And now what,” you said. “Now I’m like you. A monster. A parasite.”

“No,” he said, and there was something softer in that word, not pleading, not quite. “You are not like me. Not yet. You are what you choose to be. But you will live.”

“Live,” you echoed, bitter. “In what world is this living?”

“In the only one we have.”

You stood then, unsteady, but you did not show it. “So this is it. You’ve cursed me. You’ve made me into something I cannot undo.”

“I did what I could.” He said again, and this time, something in his voice cracked.

You turned away and pressed your hand against the wall to steady yourself. The room was cold and quiet except for your breathing and the slight creak of old wood shifting above. “Where are we?” You asked finally.

“An old monastery,” he said. “Abandoned. No one comes here anymore.”

“Convenient,” you muttered. “Is this where you bring all your victims.”

“You are not a victim.”

“No,” you said, turning toward him. “I am something worse now. I am your problem.”

He looked at you with something unreadable, then said, “You are not a problem. You are alive.”

“Barely,” you muttered, then crossed your arms, leaning back against the stone. “I feel strange. Hungry but not. Cold but burning.”

“That will pass,” he said. “Or it will become familiar.”

You looked at him long and hard, then said, “And what now. Do I serve you. Follow you. Bite villagers in the night and pretend it means something.”

His mouth twisted faintly. “You are free to go, if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Oh,” you said dryly. “Very generous of you, after turning me into a creature feared in bedtime stories.”

“You would have died,” he said again, more firmly now. “You do not understand the kind of death they give. I have seen it. I have done it. I would not wish it on you.”

You didn’t reply. Your eyes dropped to the floor and the silence returned. You remembered his face as he bent over you, the look in his eyes that was not hunger but something colder, sharper. Duty. Maybe even sorrow. And now, as he stood before you, you could see the weight he carried, not in words but in the quiet tension of his shoulders, in the way he had not slept.

“You knew this would change everything.”

“I did. But I chose to act.”

“And if I hate you for it?”

“Then I will carry that too,” he said. The words hung between you, not heavy but real. You did not know what you were supposed to feel. Grief, rage, perhaps even gratitude. But what settled in your chest was something else entirely. A hollow space waiting to be filled.

“You said I am not like you yet,” you said. “What did you mean?”

“You have not fed,” he said. “You are not bound by it yet.”

You swallowed hard. “And when I do?”

“Then you will understand,” he said. “And you will choose what to become.”

“And what if I choose wrong?”

“Then you will not be the first,” he said. “But perhaps you will be the last.” That startled a faint, humourless laugh from you.

“Poetic,” you said. “That’s new.”

“Do not mistake me,” he said. “There is little poetry in what we are. But perhaps there is still meaning.”

You met his eyes again and this time, something had shifted. You did not forgive him. But you understood. You did not trust him. But you no longer feared him. Not completely. Your fingers still trembled, and your skin still ached, but you were upright. Breathing. Changed, yes, but not broken. “I need time.” You said at last.

“Take it.” He replied.

“And when I am ready,” you said slowly, “will you still be here?”

“Yes,” he said. “Even if you do not want me to be.”

You turned away and walked to the window, your hand resting on the stone. Outside, the night was endless, but the stars were visible now. You had always hated the cold, but the wind that drifted in now no longer bit as sharply as before.

You wondered if that too would change. Everything else had. Behind you, Geto said nothing more, only waited. You closed your eyes and breathed in the silence, and though your body no longer belonged to the life you once knew, your mind was still your own. For now. And in the morning, or the next, you would decide what to do with that.

The quiet stretched between you, the air growing heavier with every passing second, as if the weight of the night itself was pressing down on you. The stone beneath your fingers felt cold, but your body had already begun to change in ways you did not fully understand.

The lingering ache in your throat, the faint pulse of hunger at the back of your mind that had nothing to do with food, it was all new. Unwanted, but new. You couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t make sense of it. The way you had woken, the way your body had responded to his bite. It was unnatural, yet here you were, still alive, still breathing. Alive, but for how long? Would it be weeks, months, or longer still? You did not know. All you knew was that you had been thrust into a world where death was the end for most, but for those like him… it was merely the beginning.

You turned your gaze towards the moon, its pale light casting shadows across the stone floor. The wind from the outside was a cold comfort against the furnace of your thoughts. You felt a strange kind of stillness, as though time itself had slowed. The wind felt gentler now, no longer biting, no longer unbearable.

You drew in a deep breath, the first one that didn't feel like a chore. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were teetering on the edge of something that could never be undone. Geto stood just behind you, silent and unmoving, as if watching over you. You didn’t dare to speak first. Your mind was too full, too full of questions and doubts you had no answers to.

You had never asked for any of this.

Your fingers brushed against the rough wood, and you let out a long breath, trying to steady yourself. You didn’t want to admit it, but the hunger gnawing at your insides was growing worse. You didn’t know what it was, but it felt like a deep, empty pit that no amount of food could fill. You had to feed, and you had to do it soon, or you might not last the night.

You felt his presence behind you before you heard him move. He was there, standing just within reach, close enough that you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You didn’t look at him, didn’t turn your head. “You should feed.” He said, his voice soft, but there was something in it that made the words feel like an order, not a suggestion.

You clenched your fists at your sides, the ache in your chest growing sharper. “I know,” you replied, your voice tight. “But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.”

“I will show you,” he said, his voice steady, unyielding. “I will guide you through it. But you must trust me.”

The words stung more than you expected. Trust him? After everything? But even as you stood there, your mind fighting against the urge to flee, you knew that there was no other choice. You couldn’t fight it. Not now. Not yet.

So, you nodded slowly, reluctantly. “Show me then,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Geto stepped forward, his movements fluid, and without another word, he took your hand, guiding you toward the door that led deeper into the monastery. You felt a shiver run down your spine, not from the cold, but from something else. Something darker. And in that moment, you realized that you might not ever be able to walk away from this.

Whatever this was, whatever he had turned you into, it was a part of you now. And it always would be. The door creaked open, and as Geto led you into the darkness beyond, you couldn’t help but wonder just how much further you would fall. How much further you would let him lead you into this strange new world. The pace picked up ever so slightly, the weight of it unspoken, but you felt it all the same.

You weren’t sure if it was the hunger gnawing at your insides or the way your body was beginning to respond to this new life that had been forced upon you, but there was a shift in the air, a subtle change in the way Geto moved. He led you through the monastery with an ease that suggested familiarity, like he had done this a thousand times before. The heavy silence was broken only by the soft shuffle of your feet against the stone floor, a sound so muted it barely registered in the cavernous halls.

The flickering light of a few scattered torches cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, making it seem as though the very stones themselves were alive, watching, listening. Your thoughts raced, swirling with the panic and confusion that had taken root deep inside of you. You had never been one to panic. You had always been steady, calm, collected even in the most harrowing of circumstances.

But this… this was beyond anything you had ever known. The hunger was sharp now, scraping at the inside of your throat, insistent and unbearable. You swallowed, trying to push it back, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. “We are not hunting animals,” Geto spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

You glanced at him, trying to make sense of what he meant, but his eyes were unreadable, as they always were.

“Not tonight,” he added, as if to clarify, though it only made things more uncertain. “But you must learn. This hunger is not for the simple beasts of the forest.” He spoke as though it was a foregone conclusion, as if you should already know this, but the words only added to the weight of the unknown that pressed against you.

You didn’t understand what he meant, not truly. Not yet. The two of you moved through the monastery’s hidden passages, the air thick with an oppressive silence that seemed to magnify every movement, every breath. You could feel the faintest tremor in your limbs as you walked, the urge to feed growing stronger, insistent. It was a hunger that you could not silence, could not ignore.

And Geto, ever watchful, seemed to sense it. “Do not fight it,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This is a part of you now. You will learn to control it, or it will control you.”

You said nothing, though the words stung more than you cared to admit. His words weren’t cruel, but there was no comfort in them either. You felt like a prisoner to your own body, a stranger in your own skin. You had no control over it, no say in the way your body now ached and throbbed with hunger, hunger for something you didn’t understand. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t wanted it. But here you were.

The dim light grew fainter as you reached the heart of the monastery, a large, almost cavernous chamber hidden beneath the earth, its walls lined with ancient stone, worn smooth by time. The air here was stale, heavy with the scent of something you couldn’t place.

The hunger clawed at you again, fiercer now, and you could feel your heartbeat quicken in response. It was becoming unbearable, almost maddening. Geto stopped abruptly, his hand gently gripping your arm to still you. “Here,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with something darker beneath it. “You must feed now.”

You blinked, your body tensing, not entirely sure you understood what he was saying. You were used to food that filled the stomach, but this… this was something else entirely. “What… what do you mean?” you asked, your voice tight, though you tried to sound indifferent.

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the shadows, his gaze piercing and unnerving. Then, without warning, he moved forward, pulling you toward the far corner of the chamber, where something shifted in the darkness. Your pulse quickened, and the hunger surged again, sharper this time, a raw and primal thing. You wanted to resist. You wanted to turn away, to run, but you couldn’t.

The compulsion was too strong. “You must feed,” he repeated, his voice insistent. “Do not fight it.”

And then, as if to show you exactly what he meant, Geto moved swiftly, his hand grasping a figure that had emerged from the shadows.

You saw it then—a person, a stranger, someone who had been hiding in the dark corners of the monastery, their body frail and thin, their eyes wide with terror. The figure was already trembling, their gaze locked onto Geto with a mixture of fear and confusion. But the fear, the confusion, it didn’t matter.

You were too far gone. You had no choice but to follow the instincts that surged within you, instincts that had been awakened by the bite, by the changes that had already begun to take hold of you. You stepped forward, your movements mechanical, driven by an instinct you didn’t fully understand.

You could feel Geto’s presence behind you, steady, guiding, and though you didn’t want to admit it, you could feel a strange sense of safety in his proximity. You reached for the figure, your fingers brushing their skin, and the sensation sent a jolt through you, a rush of electricity that made your body tense, made the hunger swell even more. The figure tried to pull back, tried to escape, but it was no use.

You were faster now, stronger than you had been, and with a single, swift motion, you grasped them, pulling them close. Their pulse fluttered beneath your fingers, fast and erratic, their breath coming in quick gasps. But it wasn’t enough.

The hunger clawed at you, relentless, unyielding. You had no choice. Your lips parted, and before you could think, before you could comprehend what was happening, you sank your teeth into their flesh. The blood was warm, rich, and it surged into your mouth, filling you in ways that food never had. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

It was both a relief and a terror. You could feel the essence of the person flow through you, the warmth of their life leaving them and entering you, and with each pull, the hunger inside you dimmed, if only for a moment. The figure screamed, but the sound was muffled, distant, as if it was happening to someone else, as if it wasn’t really happening to you. You wanted to pull away, to stop, but the hunger wouldn’t let you. It was all-consuming, overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop.

Not now. Not when it felt like the very core of your being was unraveling with every drop. You heard Geto’s voice, distant, but clear, cutting through the haze of your mind. “Control yourself,” he warned, his tone stern, though there was an undertone of something softer, something almost like concern. “You must stop.”

But the hunger—no, it wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was power. It was dark, intoxicating, and it filled you in a way nothing else ever had.

And just as suddenly as it began, the figure went limp, their pulse fading, and you were left with nothing but a faint taste on your tongue and an emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

You pulled away, your body trembling with the aftermath of what you had done, and you felt an overwhelming wave of disgust wash over you. This wasn’t you. This wasn’t who you were. But you couldn’t deny the pull, the way it had felt, the way it had filled you in ways you never thought possible. You stepped back, gasping, your breath ragged, as Geto’s hand landed on your shoulder, steadying you.

You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, a mask of calm that did nothing to soothe the storm raging inside you. “You have fed,” he said, his voice low, “and now you must learn to control it. This is your new reality, whether you want it or not.”

The words rang in your ears, and you wanted to scream, to rail against it all. But there was nothing to do. Nothing but to face this new life that had been thrust upon you. Nothing but to try and survive. The air in the chamber felt thick, charged with something unspoken as you stood there, your breath ragged and uneven, still tasting the remnants of what you had just done.

The hunger, though somewhat sated, lingered in the depths of you, a dull ache at the edges of your mind. It was a part of you now, a shadow you could not outrun. But amidst the tumult of your emotions—fear, confusion, repulsion—there was a strange pull, something warm in the cold, something not born from the hunger, but from the man standing beside you.

Geto’s presence was like a steadying force, though it did little to quell the storm in your chest. You should have been angry. You should have felt betrayed, but all you could feel was a deep, inexplicable yearning—a pull that went beyond the physical, beyond the hunger.

His hand still rested on your shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, you felt something stir within you, something unfamiliar, yet undeniable. You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in what felt like ages. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met yours, and the weight of them made your heart skip.

He said nothing, his gaze unwavering, but there was something there now, something softer, something that made you wonder if he, too, felt the strange shift between you. He wasn’t the same as before. You had seen him as something cold, distant—an enigmatic force, a guardian of sorts. But now, there was a glimmer of something more, something human.

And that was what made the hunger inside you burn hotter. "You did well," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, as though the words were meant for you alone. It was praise, but there was something else in it, something wrapped in layers you weren’t sure you could unwrap.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer immediately. Instead, you found yourself taking a step closer, instinctively, drawn toward him, toward that steady presence.

The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Enough to feel the tension shift, to feel something softening between you both. Geto’s gaze never wavered, his hand still on your shoulder, and though he did not pull away, his fingers twitched, as if unsure of what to do next.

The silence stretched between you both, and you wondered, just for a moment, if he could feel it too—the way your heart raced a little faster, the way your body seemed to react to his nearness, to the heat that radiated from him, a heat that was neither of the flesh nor the hunger, but something more.

“You don’t have to do this alone.” He said suddenly, the words catching you off guard. You looked up at him, unsure of whether to believe him or not. “I never wanted you to feel as though you had no choice.” He spoke the words so softly, so carefully, as though afraid to break something between you. “I do not know what this is, nor where it will lead,” he continued, his voice low, almost a murmur, “but I will be here, as long as you’ll let me.”

It wasn’t much, but in that moment, it felt like a promise. A quiet one. A fragile one. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak immediately, the weight of his words pressing against the new, strange emotions rising in your chest. Your heart thudded, loud in your ears, and the pull you had felt earlier was stronger now.

You took a steadying breath, your hand twitching at your side, as though the simple act of reaching for him was something you were still unsure of.

Your heart thudded, loud in your ears, and the pull you had felt earlier was stronger now. You took a steadying breath, your hand twitching at your side, as though the simple act of reaching for him was something you were still unsure of.

Geto watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something waiting, something gentle, that made the air between you both crackle. Without thinking, you reached out, just a fraction, your fingers brushing against his arm. It was fleeting, but the contact felt like a spark, a spark that sent a shiver down your spine.

His eyes darkened, but he said nothing, didn’t move away. He was waiting. For what, you didn’t know. But it was enough. For now, it was enough. Your heart thundered in your chest as the realization settled over you: you weren’t sure what this was, what he was to you now, but you were drawn to him—just as he seemed drawn to you. And that was dangerous, terrifying. But also, impossibly, wonderfully, inevitable.

“Why?” You asked, your voice steady even if your hands were not, “Why do we feed on them when we have each other,” and the words surprised even you for their bluntness, but it was the question that had lived behind your eyes since the monastery doors closed behind you, since the villagers scattered like ash, since the warmth of your own blood became nothing more than memory.

Geto blinked slowly as though the question was unexpected though you knew it was not, and his fingers curled lightly around the edge of the stone bench he sat on, his expression unreadable as always, but his answer came, soft but without hesitation, “Because we are not meant to survive each other”

You stared at him, uncomprehending, your brow furrowed as he went on.

“There is little left in us that is not hunger, but what we do have, we hold tight to, and blood shared between us is sacred, not survival,” and you tilted your head slightly, the faintest scowl tugging at your mouth.

“You mean to say it’s sentiment?” You asked, and he smiled then, not kindly, not mockingly, but with a strange heaviness behind it.

“It is power, and intimacy, and the only part of us that still belongs to choice,” he said, “We do not share it lightly.”

You looked away, the fire in the hearth casting long flickering shadows that made the chamber feel older than it was, ancient even, and still you were not satisfied, “Then why did you not give me yours instead of taking from me.” You asked.

He was quiet again, his gaze not faltering, and when he spoke it was with no defense, only truth, “Because if I had given you mine, it would have been for me, not for you.”

Something in that sentence stilled the air, made your chest tighten without warning, and you turned away as if the walls themselves had begun to listen too closely, your hand finding the edge of the stone table and gripping it, grounding yourself in something that felt real because nothing inside you did anymore, not since the forest, not since the pain, and the way he said it made you want to curse and scream and bury your fists in the stone until it cracked, because you understood now that he had chosen the crueler path not for lack of mercy but to avoid binding you to him.

Yet the bond was there all the same, creeping beneath your skin like a thread pulled taut, and though you had no name for it you felt it when he stepped closer, when his voice dropped just slightly, when he said, “Do you feel it?”

You hated that you did, hated that the moment he asked you wanted to lie but could not, so you stayed quiet, and he did not need the answer spoken aloud.

“It will not hurt you,” he said, “Not unless you fight it too hard.”

You spun to face him, your eyes sharp, your voice sharper, “And what exactly is it?”

For once he hesitated, not because he did not know, but because he did, and that silence told you more than any answer might have, so you laughed once under your breath, dry and bitter.

“So I am tied to you now,” you said, “Because you bit me?”

He nodded once, solemn, “Yes,” and you did not know whether you wanted to flee or strike him or collapse against him and scream, and perhaps you wanted all three, so instead you folded your arms and said nothing, the only sound the quiet hiss of the fire and the wind pushing against the old monastery walls, and he did not come closer but nor did he move away, and the space between you had begun to ache with something you could not name, something just under the surface of your skin like a bruise not yet formed.

You remembered the stories, the old tales whispered in taverns and over grave soil, that once turned a vampire was never free, never alone, but those stories had always been told by mortals, not those who had lived it, and now you stood at the edge of that truth and found it both colder and heavier than you had ever imagined, and yet somehow not as hollow, because he had given you no lies, and that, more than anything, confused you, and when he spoke again it was with the weight of centuries behind it.

“I have not turned another in all my years,” he said, “Not once, not until now,” and you looked at him then, truly looked, and saw not a monster but a man who had carved his own loneliness so deeply into his skin it would never wash clean.

You said nothing because there was nothing to say, but you reached out again, not fully, not yet ready, but enough that your hand brushed against his once more, and this time he did not wait, his fingers closing over yours slowly like a question not yet asked, and your heart clenched because even now it was too much and not enough, and you whispered, “Will it always feel like this?”

“Only when you are near,” and that answer did not frighten you, not in the way it should have, because somewhere in the marrow of your new self you already knew it to be true.

You did not draw your hand away and neither did he, and for a while the two of you stood as though time had folded in on itself and wrapped this chamber in its palm like a secret no god would dare disturb, and your fingers, though colder than they once were, did not tremble beneath his, and his grip, light as it was, held a kind of stillness you had not yet seen in him, as though whatever distance he had forced between you had finally faltered for a moment and in its place came this hush, this small brittle peace, and when you did move it was only to sit, carefully, as though any sudden sound might fracture what had quietly taken root between.

He followed without speaking, lowering himself to the bench across from you though your hands did not part until necessity demanded it, and when you let go the warmth that lingered on your skin startled you more than you wished to admit, for you had thought warmth impossible now, lost to the old self you buried back in the clearing where your blood had once stained the leaves, but it stayed, flickering like a coal under ash, and when your eyes finally met again you both looked away at the same time, not from shame or fear but from the slow realisation that the bond between you would not be undone, not by time nor distance nor even death, and so it would have to be borne, and neither of you yet knew how.

When you finally stood it was with a kind of silent understanding that some quiet thread had been pulled taut between you and now all that remained was to walk forward and see where it led, and the monastery breathed around you, its ancient stone archways leading deeper into the dark, where halls stretched into quiet cloisters and broken alcoves thick with dust and silence.

Geto stepped ahead of you with the easy pace of someone who had walked these paths before, not guiding but simply being there, and you followed, not out of submission but because for now there was no other path you trusted, and the quiet of the place was not heavy but deep, like a well that held memory in its throat, and the flicker of torchlight along the walls cast long shadows that slipped between the cracks of the stone and danced in your wake.

As you walked your senses shifted without warning, not just sight and sound but something stranger, something that prickled at the base of your neck and tightened in your stomach, as though the world itself had begun speaking in a new tongue you were only now beginning to understand, and you caught scent of something ahead, not foul but unmistakably sharp, metal-sweet and thick like a bruise on the air.

You knew before he said it that blood had been spilled nearby, not old but recent, and Geto’s posture stiffened though his voice did not rise when he murmured, “They are near,” and you knew he did not mean men, and you asked no further question because your body already knew what to do though your mind was still catching up.

The two of you moved soundlessly now, like breath in a chapel, and when you turned the corner and stepped into the broken courtyard, you saw them—three figures cloaked in ash-coloured leather, huddled over something fallen and twitching on the stones, and they did not hear you approach, not until Geto’s voice cut through the air with terrible calm, “Step away.”

They turned, slowly, snarling, their mouths still stained with the red of what they had taken, and the body beneath them—what was left of it—was no longer moving, and you recognised the sickled curve of their limbs, the hollow hunger in their eyes, not like yours, not like his, these were not turned with care or reason, they were feral, fledglings or worse, and they did not speak but lunged, not at him but at you, as though the scent of new blood pulled them like wolves from the edge of sanity.

You did not think, only moved, your body no longer slow, no longer aching, but swift and cold and sure, and your hand found the blade at your side without looking, a gift Geto had left for you without words earlier that evening, and it slid into your palm like it belonged there, and when the first creature reached you you did not hesitate, you twisted, stepped aside, and drove the blade upward into its throat, not clean but deep.

The thing shrieked, a sound that scraped against the inside of your teeth, and collapsed in a heap of limbs and broken sound, and behind you you heard Geto strike the second, not with blade but with his hands, and the crack of bone echoed off the stone as its body was thrown against the wall hard enough to leave blood in its wake, and the last of them fled, not cowardly but with the cunning of something that would wait and try again later.

You stood in the aftermath, panting though you did not need the air, the blood on your hand still warm, and Geto came to your side and did not speak, only looked down at the body at your feet, and then at you, and then quietly said, “You learn quickly.”

You said nothing, only wiped the blade on your sleeve and turned your gaze to the edge of the courtyard where the stars still blinked down as though none of this had happened, and after a long moment, you asked, “Were they like me?”

He shook his head once, “No. Turned carelessly. Left untaught. They are not rare,”

You felt something knot in your chest, not pity but fury, because you knew then that what you had been given—what he had given you—was not a curse alone, but also a choice, and the weight of that pressed against your ribs until you could hardly speak, so instead you asked, “Will they keep coming?”

He nodded, “Until they are stopped.”

You turned your eyes to the dark where the last had vanished and said, “Then we stop them,” and he did not smile but there was something in his eyes then that steadied you, and you stood in that courtyard as the night deepened around you, blood cooling on your palms, and a strange sense of rightness bloomed under your skin like frost melting beneath morning sun, and when the wind rose again, it no longer carried the scent of fear, only resolve.

The silence did not last, of course it never could in a place where peace was fleeting and shadows lived longer than men, and though the night outside the monastery cloaked the world in a brittle hush, it was not enough to muffle the faintest ripple of intrusion, a sound like laughter carried on the wind, too light to be kind, too sharp to be dismissed.

You had not yet risen from your place near the embers when Geto stilled beside you, his head tilting slightly, the way an animal does when it senses another circling just beyond the trees, and though your body remained human in shape it understood now what it meant to tense for something unseen, for danger without a face, and before you could even ask he rose and crossed the room like smoke, slow but deliberate, and you knew that if something was coming it would not be good, for Geto had become unreadable, his eyes no longer fully soft, no longer entirely his.

When the doors groaned open without warning, not broken down but politely pushed, like an old friend returning home, it was Daiki who entered first, his grin as sharp as ever, his eyes trailing over the walls and tapestries like he had helped lay every stone, like he was coming to claim something, or someone, and following him was the other male, mouth curved in that same disdainful smirk that always made your fists itch, and last was the woman whose name you still did not know.

The second they saw you standing beside Geto, not dead, not drained, but changed, the silence broke not with rage or warning but with laughter, cruel and glinting, like knives wrapped in silk, “Well,” Daiki said, drawing the word out like a bow across strings, “Isn’t this sweet?”

The other male’s lip curled as he stepped further in, boots not bothering to soften their approach across the stone, “You turned her,” he said to Geto, voice low and vaguely amused, “how very unlike you.”

The woman did not speak but walked the perimeter like she was measuring the room for caskets, her fingers trailing the edges of the nearest bench, and you stayed still because this wasn’t your fight, not yet, not unless it became one, but the air had changed and your stomach twisted with it.

“I did what I had to.” Geto said evenly, arms loose at his sides, not inviting a challenge but not dismissing one either, and it wasn’t anger you heard in his tone but something colder, quieter, something that did not have a name but still made the woman glance at him more carefully.

“Had to?” Daiki echoed, voice all honey and thorns, “Come now, Geto, since when have you done anything because you had to?” His eyes flicked toward you then, narrowing with something unkind, “I thought we didn’t play with our food.”

Though the words were mocking the implication beneath them was sharp enough to cut, “You think this is a game?” You asked, your voice flat, unmoved, and Daiki’s smile widened, delighted.

“Oh I know it is,” he said, “the only difference now is that you’ve been dragged onto the board,”

The woman finally spoke then, her voice low and melodic like a lullaby turned rotten, “He must have cared for you more than he let on, to waste the gift on a human.”

Something in your chest twitched at that, not from her tone but from the word waste, because whatever you were now, whatever he had made you, you would never be someone’s regret, “Why are you here?” Geto asked, not cruelly, but without welcome.

“We heard the screaming, and the smoke,” Daiki said, gesturing lazily to the open window, “we thought perhaps someone was dying, imagine our surprise,” and his gaze landed on you again, slower this time, more curious than mocking, “Do you even know what he’s done to you?” He asked

Though the question was pointed you met it with the same nonchalance you always had, “I was there,” you said, “I know enough.”

But Daiki only chuckled, “Do you?” He pressed, taking a step closer, “Did he tell you what it means, when a vampire chooses to change someone with their own bite?” and your silence was answer enough.

“Of course he didn’t.” The woman muttered, and tsked softly under her breath, like she pitied you, and for a moment there was nothing but the faint crackle of the fire behind you, until the other male stepped forward with a theatrical sigh, hands in his coat pockets like this was a conversation he’d had too many times, like it bored him, even as his eyes glittered with cruel delight.

“Turning a human, especially like this,” he said, gesturing between you and Geto with a lazy flick of his wrist, “isn’t as simple as just keeping them alive,” and he said it the way someone might say patching a wound, like it was medical, clinical, but his smirk ruined the illusion, “There’s always a reason,” he continued, beginning to pace just a little, not nervously, but like he was telling a story for an audience, “Sometimes it’s practical—warriors, companions, tools,” and he glanced at you, sneering, “dolls,” then back to Geto, “and sometimes,” he said, voice turning mockingly dreamy, “it’s to keep someone with you forever.”

Daiki hummed like he was hearing a love story and hating every word of it, “Is that what it was, Geto? Couldn’t let this one rot?” he teased, and Geto didn’t move, didn’t blink.

“But there’s a third reason. One you clearly didn’t know about, sweetheart,” and the way he called you that made your jaw clench, “Sometimes,” he said slowly, almost savouring it, “when a vampire changes someone during a particular cycle—rare, celestial, you might say—it forges a bond, not just physical, but… binding.”

He stopped in front of you, gaze flicking to the faint mark on your neck, still healing, still warm beneath the skin.

“Like a vow,” he said, voice gleaming with menace, “like a ritual,” Daiki grinned, “Like a marriage,” he supplied, and your stomach flipped as the words hung there, ugly and cold and unwanted.

“But only,” the other male added, tone sharp again, “when the cycle is active, when the stars align, which, lucky for you both—” he pointed upward, finger circling toward the ceiling like it could see through to the heavens, “—is happening right now.”

Daiki barked a laugh, delighted, “Oh, Geto, you romantic bastard,” he said, “You didn’t just save her. You married her,” and the words were ridiculous, they had to be, but the way Geto looked at the floor for a fraction of a second too long, the way he didn’t interrupt, didn’t deny, made the air shift between your ribs.

“Tell me you didn’t forget,” the woman said, still watching Geto, eyes dancing with venom, “Tell me you didn’t just go and perform the oldest rite our kind knows and not even warn her,” and you opened your mouth to speak, to demand the truth, but Daiki got there first.

“They’ll come for you, you know,” “if word gets out. You think this place can hide something like that?”

You shook your head, stepping forward despite yourself, “So what—you’re saying I’m married to him now?”

Daiki laughed, full-bodied and mean, “No,” he said, “I’m saying you’re bound, which is worse,” he leaned in slightly, enough to make your hands twitch with the urge to hit him, “Because marriage can be undone,” he whispered, “but this?” his smile widened, “this has teeth.”

For a moment all you could do was stare at him, heart thudding hard enough to drown out the wind through the open halls, and behind them, Geto finally spoke, voice low and strained, “It wasn’t meant to happen like this.”

Daiki’s eyes lit up, “So you do remember,” he said, “How sweet,” and then he looked back at you, eyes glittering, “Hope you like commitment, darling,” he said, “because you’re going to feel him in your bones until the cycle ends.”

The woman added smoothly, “Or until it’s completed,” and you didn’t ask what that meant, not yet, not with the way they were smiling, like devils at a wedding feast, like they were waiting for you to realise the punchline to a joke they’d been telling for centuries.

The air felt thick with tension as Daiki's cruel laughter echoed in the chambers, but it was the woman who stepped forward, her lips curling into a tight smile. “It’s tradition,” she said, her voice smooth like honey, dripping with malice. “And a bond like this isn’t easily undone.” She tilted her head, her strange eyes glinting in the dim light. “A marriage, yes, but it’s more than just that. It’s a claim—a permanent connection between you both. And,” she added with a mocking glance toward you, “it’s not something either of you can escape from. Not unless one of you dies or the bond is severed. But even then...”

She trailed off with a knowing smirk, as if leaving the consequences unsaid made them even more ominous. Geto’s face remained impassive, but his eyes were hard, narrowed at the trio before him. His hands clenched at his sides, though his posture stayed still, unyielding.

“This isn’t your concern,” he said quietly, but there was a thread of something cold in his tone that was enough to make Daiki chuckle again, a low sound that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Isn’t it, though?” Daiki retorted. “You’ve made it our concern the moment you decided to change her, and now...” He stepped closer to you, his boots scraping against the floor, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now we’re all bound by the same fate.”

His grin was wide, too wide, and you could feel the malice in every word.

“The bond between a vampire and their... chosen one, is something everyone feels, even if they don’t know it yet. Imagine what you’ve signed yourself up for,” he said, eyes flashing as he finally turned his gaze to Geto. “You really didn’t think this through, did you? How long will you keep pretending she’s just a... a human to you?”

His tone was mocking, and the laughter that followed made your stomach twist. The woman still watching you with that same unsettling gaze shifted slightly, her eyes flickering from Daiki to Geto.

“The marriage part is simple, really,” she said, stepping forward. “What you don’t understand is what happens after, but I’ll let you figure that one out. You’re bound to each other now, connected in ways you don’t fully comprehend. And it isn’t just a choice you get to make. No. It’s tradition. Tradition demands you both stay together, the bond woven into your very existence. That’s the curse of it.”

She continued, her voice dropping into something more sinister.

“You both have no choice but to endure the pull of each other’s blood, each other’s touch. To break it is... almost impossible. The cycle doesn’t just end; it requires completion. And completion? Well, that’s something special.”

She let the last word hang in the air, dark and tantalizing, like a threat and a promise at once. Daiki laughed again, louder this time, and clapped a hand to his chest. “Special, she says,” he mocked. “Like it’s something beautiful. Like a fairytale.”

He smirked at you, and there was no kindness in the gesture, just cruelty, just the fun of seeing someone caught in a game they didn’t even know they were playing.

“Geto’s not the romantic type, sweetheart. But I’m sure he’s already figured out that there’s no running from this. No hiding. It’s already done. You’ll be his, and he’ll be yours—until the end of time.”

His voice was light, but the weight of his words sank into the room like poison. You felt the air get heavier, the truth of it hanging over you, making everything you thought you knew about yourself feel far away, distant. The other male crossed his arms, watching the exchange with mild amusement. “You see,” he said, “there’s a certain beauty to it. The way it changes you both. No more running from what you are, what you’re meant to be. You think this is all about love or duty or whatever else? It’s not. It’s about survival, about making sure that the vampire and their mate are bound forever, inseparably.”

He paused, his eyes flicking to Geto, then back to you. “It’s about control. And once you’re marked—once you’ve been claimed—you don’t get to choose.”

His smirk deepened, as if savoring the final punchline.

“So yes, little bride,” Daiki said, mocking the word with a sneer, “you’ll go through with it. You’ll go through with everything because that’s the way it has to be.” Daiki stepped closer to Geto, his eyes glittering with something dark. “You won’t be able to run. And you won’t be able to pretend it’s all some kind of accident. No. This isn’t just some feeding ritual, Geto. This is a life sentence. Both of you are tied together. Whether you like it or not.”

Geto didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but there was a heaviness in his silence, a weight in the air between the two of you.

The woman, who had been watching silently, finally spoke again, her voice light, as if she were offering a piece of advice. “You’ll feel it, won’t you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, eyes narrowing as they studied you with an almost clinical interest. “The bond. The way it pulls at you, at your very soul. You’ll feel his presence. Always. It will be there, woven through your every thought, your every breath.” She chuckled softly, but there was no joy in it, only the sound of something predatory. “And when the time comes for completion...”

She let the word linger, heavy with implication. Daiki grinned, looking from the woman to you and then back to Geto, “Don’t you worry, sweet girl. You won’t be alone. Not ever.” His smile widened as he stepped toward the door. “Not unless one of you decides to kill the other, of course. But I’d rather not be here for that.”

Daiki’s laughter filled the room again, harsh and mocking, as he followed the other male to the door, and the woman lingered a moment longer, her eyes locked on Geto with something unreadable in their depths.

“You’ll understand soon enough.” She murmured, then turned to leave, her footsteps fading as she followed the others into the night.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, and in that moment, standing with Geto, your mind raced, the weight of their words crashing down on you. You were tied to him now, in ways you didn’t understand, in ways that were beyond your control, and the bond was not just physical but something far deeper, far more permanent.

You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing: you couldn’t escape it. Neither of you could. Geto finally moved, his presence like a shadow behind you, his breath warm against your skin. “I didn’t want this for you.” He said, his voice low, full of regret, but even his words couldn’t change the truth of it, the truth that was now inescapable.

The bond was real. And it was yours to bear.

“Geto,” you whispered, voice barely audible, as you turned to face him, your eyes searching his. “You... didn’t tell me.” There was a mix of frustration and confusion in your tone, as if you were hoping for an answer, for some explanation that could untangle the mess that was now your reality.

Geto didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the door where the others had just exited. His fists were clenched at his sides, as though trying to hold something back, something that was threatening to break free.

“I didn’t want to,” Geto said after a long silence, his voice a low rasp. “I didn’t want you to have to deal with it, not like this.” He finally met your eyes, and there was something raw, something guilty in his gaze. “I thought maybe... if I could protect you, keep you safe, I could spare you from all of this.”

You shook your head, anger and confusion bubbling inside you. “But you didn’t,” you snapped, your voice rising. “You didn’t spare me, Geto. You just—.” You stopped yourself, unsure of how to finish that sentence. But the truth was there, hanging in the air between you, thick and suffocating.

“I know,” he said softly, his expression pained. “I know. But I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t... watch you die.” He paused, his voice faltering. “I made the choice for you, because I couldn’t let you go.” His words were heavy with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You should’ve told me,” you insisted, your chest tight with the weight of it all. “I had the right to know, to make the decision for myself.”

His gaze softened, but there was something else there, something darker. “You didn’t have a choice,” he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Once the bond is formed, once it’s been sealed... there’s no turning back. You are mine now, whether you want it or not.”

The words hit you harder than anything the others had said. You took a step back, your mind racing as you processed the finality of it all. His. The weight of the word crushed you, filling your chest with an unfamiliar ache.

“Why didn’t you just let me go?” you whispered, your voice breaking, the emotion rising in your throat like bile. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”

Geto looked as though you had physically struck him. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, before he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. “Because I couldn’t let you die, and I couldn’t let you go. You’re more than just... a human to me. You’re...” He faltered, not quite meeting your eyes, as if the words themselves were too much for him to say aloud.

Geto couldn’t say it, because he’d sound mad.

“I’m what?” You demanded, frustration bleeding through in your voice.

He finally met your gaze, his eyes dark and intense, filled with something you couldn’t identify. “You’re mine, just as much as I’m yours,” he said quietly, almost as if the words were a confession. “You don’t understand it now, but you will. You’ll feel it, the pull, the connection, the bond between us. It’s not just about... us. It’s about *everything*.” His voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension there, a flicker of something unspoken between you.

You shook your head, your thoughts a blur. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to be yours.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “You did this to me, Geto. You didn’t give me a choice. You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He didn’t respond right away, his face unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a heavy pressure that pressed down on your chest. When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost regretful. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, “but this... this is what happens when you cross the line. When you make a choice without thinking of the consequences. You are mine, and I...” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence.

“And you what?” You pressed, your voice tight with anger. “You’ll protect me? Is that what you think this is? That I’m some... some possession to be protected?” You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your anger boiling over. “You’ve already *ruined* me, Geto. You’ve taken away my choice, my freedom. And now you think you can just fix it?”

He flinched, but his expression didn’t change. “I never wanted to ruin you,” he said softly. “But I knew... I knew the moment I made the decision that there was no turning back. You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.” His voice was firm, unyielding, and you could feel the finality of his words like a sharp knife twisting in your gut.

“I hate this,” you spat, your words sharp and bitter, but Geto just stood there, his expression hardening, as if he were bracing himself for something. “I hate this.” You repeated, more forcefully this time.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he understood exactly what you were feeling. “I hate it too.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the weight of the bond hanging between you, suffocating. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your harsh breathing, and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. The silence stretched on, and in that moment, you realized you couldn’t run. You couldn’t escape the truth. You were bound to him, just as much as he was bound to you.

Finally, Geto broke the silence, his voice low and steady. “I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t want you to become... this. But now, there’s no going back. You’ll feel the pull, soon. The bond will get stronger, and then you’ll understand. But it’s not something I can undo. Not now. Not ever.” His words were heavy, resigned, and you couldn’t help but feel the truth of it.

“You’ve ruined my life. You said quietly, the words hanging in the air between you like a heavy curse.

Geto didn’t deny it, didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. And in that moment, you both knew that there was no escape, no way out. The bond was permanent. You were his. And he was yours.

Forever.

if you read this far, thank you 😚

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