đ§ââď¸ Lean's POV:
I wake up to... nothing.
No Dom grumbling in the kitchen.
No "good morning, bloodsucker" insults.
No smell of coffee or burnt toast.
Just... quiet. Too quiet.
My bat senses tingle. Something's off.
I stretch and blink at the ceiling. The blood I drank last night must've digested already-no soreness, no hunger. Just me... and, um, nakedness. Lovely. Guess I transformed in my sleep again.
I grope around the bed for anything wearable and grab the nearest warm, safe thing: Pupper's shirt. Oversized, soft, smells faintly of soap, musk, and him. It's long enough to cover my thighs, so... good enough. Pants are overrated anyway-they itch, and I'm a vampire, not a corporate intern.
So, barefoot and drowning in Dom's shirt, I shuffle into the living room. The floor's cold. My heart too.
He's on the balcony, talking on the phone, voice low and serious. Hands moving like he's negotiating world peace. My chest tightens immediately.
Oh no. He's plotting something. Or leaving me. Or secretly in a biker gang. Robbing a blood bank for me? Do he have a girlfriend! Did he murder someone? Did he murdered Ray Noo.....
By the time I finish that thought, I've imagined about a hundred tragic scenarios.
I clear my throat. "Uh... Puppers? Morning?"
He jumps, glances at me, and hurriedly ends the call. Aha. Suspicious. Very suspicious. Definitely suspicious.
"Who was that?" I ask, trying to sound casual but sounding more like a jealous cat.
He smirks. "No one you need to worry about, bloodsucker fruit bat."
I squint. "Right. Because mysterious phone calls at eight in the morning are so normal."
Dom leans back on the railing, grin sharp, eyes full of mischief. "Don't overthink everything for once."
I throw my hands up. "Overthink?! Me?! Never!"
...I overthink everything.
Cue me storming dramatically back to my room, mumbling about men and their mysterious phone calls, and collapsing face-first onto the bed like the tragic main character I was born to be.
A few minutes later, there's a knock. The door opens. Dom stands there, holding coffee like a peace treaty.
"I'm not running away, drama queen," he says softly. "Just... trust me for one day, okay?"
I sniff the coffee. Then I sniff him. Then I sniff the universe-because why stop now? Everything smells like him.
My sigh comes out somewhere between exasperated and hopelessly fond.
"Fine," I mutter. "But you owe me one. One huge one."
He chuckles, eyes warm. "Deal. But maybe drink your coffee before you plot my assassination, yeah?"
And just like that, the tension fades into something softer. Something domestic. Something us.
And I can feel it-the quiet before the chaos.
The kind of morning that means something is coming.
đş Dominic's POV:
I woke up before sunrise today-no chaos, no shouting, no vampire dangling off my arm like a baby koala. Peace. Which should've felt great... but somehow, it didn't.
I peaked into his room
Lean was curled up in a fuzzy mess of blankets, snoring softly. Hair all over, total nude like a stoneage man, Good Christ, the first thing I have to See in the morning is a Blond naked bloody vampirey mess, drooling on the pillow. A total disaster. My disaster I guess.
New Year's Eve. He deserved something special.
Something that didn't involve blood, broken glass, or emotional breakdowns at 2 a.m.
So, I grabbed my phone, tiptoed to the balcony, and hit call.
Ray answered on the 20th ring, voice groggy.
"Bro, it's-what-the hell-7:30 a.m.? Someone better be dead. Why do dogs wake up so early."
"Morning to you too, drama queen version 1. I need a favor."
Ray groaned. "If it's about hooking you up again, I swear-"
"It's money. Technically."
"Technically???
Anyways money is fine keep barking."
"I need you to book a place. Private, quiet. Something that looks... romantic." I rubbed the back of my neck. "You know, for Lean."
Silence. Then a low whistle. "Ohhh, so the puppy's finally simping. What is it, date night? You planning to propose? Should I send fireworks or pink candles?"
"Shut up, Ray."
He laughed droolingly. "You're serious, huh? Damn, okay. I'll handle it. You're lucky I love wasting my money on your love life. I love spoiling dogs in all sizes. Send me the details later."
"I would have kiiled you by now, but I owe you."
"You owe me your soul wolfie, but we'll call it even. Happy New Year, lover boy. Ahh mom no please!!! 5 more minutes its just 7:30 I want to complete my dream the mayans are waiting for me..."
Why is he so obsessed with ancient civilization, I swear he have mini museum of weird stuffs like some ancient civilization only proof a fossilized human poop.
I hung up before he could say anything else, sighing at the sunrise.
Alright. That was phase one.
Phase two?
That's when I heard it-the soft shuffle of feet, followed by the world's most dramatic gasp.
I looked up just in time to see Lean standing there, in nothing but my shirt, hair wild, eyes wide like a cat caught stealing food. My wolf nearly short-circuited.
He blinked, sniffed the air, frowned.
"Puppers? Who were you talking to?"
Crap.
And there it was-the chaos reloaded.
Anyways
Coffee.
Because the bloodsucker just Stromed off like some pathetic Disney princess and if I didn't bribe him with a sugar overdose, there would be drama. He got sweet fangs.
I brewed two mugs-mine black, his looking like diabetes in a cup. Extra sugar, extra cream, extra everything. He likes it sweet, like his entire existence depends on rotting my teeth.
đ§ââď¸ Lean's POV:
Alright.
It's been... three hours since The Suspicious Callâ˘.
Dom's been acting normal â too normal. Like, "I definitely didn't just make a shady deal with vampires, FBI, or ex-girlfriends" kind of normal.
He's humming. Humming!
My Dom never hums. The only time he hums is when he's scheming or trying to suppress an emotional meltdown.
So obviously, my superior vampire brain goes: he's cheating(wait are we boyfriends? He never said anything! Who cares I accepted him as my husband at the first look), joining a cult, or buying a gun.
Naturally, I follow him.
Yes. I, Lean De Silva, vampire extraordinaire, stalker of the night, bringer of chaos, am tailing my own boyfriend. In broad daylight. Wearing sunglasses, his hoodie, and the kind of determination that could start wars.
He leaves the house with a duffel bag and keys jingling, muttering something about "errands."
ERRANDS?! Sir, that's what assassins say before doing crimes.
I follow at a safe distance â which, given my lack of coordination, means about five near-death experiences and one elderly lady asking if I'm okay. (No ma'am, I am emotionally compromised, but thank you.)
He stops by the flower shop.
Then a bakery.
Then â oh my undead heart â a boutique.
At this point, I'm shaking. Either he's planning to leave me for a human florist, or he's... oh. Oh no. Is he planning to propose? No, no, no, Lean. Don't jump to conclusions. You've been proposed to before â by a cult, a ghost, and that one drunk priest. It's never good news.
But he does look... nervous. Kinda excited. Kinda like he's up to something stupidly something unintelligible.
He catches me staring through the window.
And smiles.
That infuriating, heart-melting, oh-devils-I'm-so-in-love smile.
I duck behind a bush so fast I eat dirt. Literally. Mud. Right in my mouth.
So much for vampire elegance.
By the time I crawl out, he's gone â vanished into thin air like a hot, smug magician.
And me? I'm left standing there, covered in grass, heart thumping, brain screaming,
"Oh crap, what if he actually does love me? Or...or planing to sell me in black market for monsters?"
âââââ
I storm back home like a rejected soap opera actor. My feet stomp, my capeâokay, hoodieâswishes dramatically, and my inner monologue sounds like a bad violin concerto.
Puppers is hiding something.
And whatever it is, it's big. Likeâ"make or break our chaotic love story" big.
I fling myself on the couch. "If he's selling me to the black market, at least I'll go stylishly," I mutter, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeve. Then I sit up straight no Gay, becauseâwait. What if he's planning to dump me?
Oh no.
Oh no no no no.
Cue internal panic montage: me crying in the rain, me dramatically walking away while a sad piano plays, me haunting his new girlfriend's house out of spite.
No. I can't let that happen.
I need to be prepared.
So, naturally, I start writing my goodbye letter.
"To my beloved betrayer, Dominic Quinn The Mudder Puppyâ"
If you're reading this, it means you've either sold me, buried me, or dumped me. All three are rude. I forgive you anyway, because I'm emotionally mature and extremely cute."
Then halfway through, I rip the page out and yell, "No! Too dramatic!" (Which, for me, is saying something.)
So I start again.
"Dear Puppers, in case you're secretly an assassin or getting married to a florist, I just want you to know⌠I loved you. Even when you chewed on my hairs. Even when you called me names like 'glitter mosquito.' Even when you looked at me like I was your favorite bad idea."
From, your Glitter Vamps.
I sigh.
Fold the paper.
Place it on the table beside a very obvious trail of rose petalsâplastic ones from his old vase, he's gonna murder me either wayâand a half-empty mug of coffee.
If he walks in now, I'll look perfectly tragic.
Then I pace.
Back and forth.
Chewing on my nails, muttering, "Don't cry, Lean, you're too pretty to cry. Maybe he's justâbuying groceries. Or a body bag."
The front door clicks.
I freeze.
He's back.
The sound of footsteps. Heavy boots. A faint smell of pine, metal, and that stupid cologne that makes my undead heart do jazz hands.
I grab the letter and shove it behind me, sitting straight like a guilty child in detention.
"Hey, bloodsucker," Dom says, stepping inside.
Smile too casual. Bag still slung over his shoulder.
He looks at me. I look at him.
The tension could be sliced with a garlic knife.
"SoâŚ" I start. "Where were you?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Just out."
"That's what serial killers say!"
He blinks. "...what?"
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes. "If you're planning to sell me, at least let me pack my moisturizer."
He chokesâhalf laugh, half disbelief. "What the hell goes on in that head of yours? And Bro I definitely saw you following me, believe me you are ass in stalking!"
"Romantic paranoia," I declare proudly. "It's hereditary."
And that's when I notice itâ
a single blue rose poking out of his duffel bag.
Oh no.
My brain short-circuits. Proposal or murder and bury me with the roses!?
Both sound terrifying.
đşDominic's POV:
So after I well-fed the vampire, I went out to get some stuff for the night.
The fool's following me and thinks I can't tell!
Vamps, I'm the wolf here â I can smell your glitters from Mars!
Anyways, I went to the bakery for cupcakes and snacks. No one wants to starve on New Year's night.
The drunk bat? He got hit and run over by a dozen cars, chased by a snail, and crashed into a tree. Apparently, the the ruler of dark, terror of humans, the drinker of blood, is scared of slimy creatures!
Then I stopped by groceries for mosquito sprays and gel â yes, Lean's lost little cousins. They bit dinosaur asses once; they'll bite fuzzy wolf ones too. The whole family's feral.
He pulled his hoodie so tight the drawstring covered his face like a mummy and tried to play Sherlock againâuntil he bonked into a pile of rice. Dramatically drowned in it too, till two kids had to pull his sorry ass out.
Next was the flower shop. Why not? Still had some change left from Dad. And okay, fine, I even hit a boutique, blue roses his favorite, with yellow once cause the contrast slaps. Ray texted me "10 Ways to Be Romantic Without Losing Your Grump."
He? Pressed his nose against the glass, staring like a creep. A lady hid her kid. When I looked back and gave that dirty grin of mine, he went all flustered and jumped into a bush like a squirrel.
I took the chance and vanished. Hook, line, and dumbfish â chaos neutralized.
âââââââ
So I'm standing hereâafter sprinting a mile away from the vampire's reach (I can totally imagine him sobbing like a lost kid in Disneyland)âholding two bouquets, a pack of mosquito spray, and cupcakes, trying not to look like a guy who just robbed a florist.
The cashier smiled. I think she thought I was on a date.
I am, technically.
But it feels more like babysitting a radioactive squirrel with a blood fetish.
Anyway, I call Ray.
Me: "Yo, you booked it, right?"
Ray: "Who's this? The tragic poet or the werewolf simp?"
Me: "Millers."
Ray: "Ah, tragic simp poet it is."
I swear I could hear him sipping something smug on the other end.
Me: "Did you or did you not get the place?"
Ray: "Of course I did! The lakeside cabin with the moon viewâeverything you asked for."
Me: "Good boy."
Ray: "Dude, I will combust. Stop."
Me: "Simp."
Ray: "Man, I'm the fool hooking you up with your bloodsucker! Bro, I used my month's pocket money for thisâyou better not disappoint the vampire!"
Ray: "You do realize mosquitoes love blood, right?"
Me: "That's why I got the spray."
Ray: "For him or for you? Oh waitâtechnically Lean sucks blood too, right? So... mosquito sprays repel vampires now?"
Silence. I'm rethinking my species, my ancestry, and all my life choices.
Ray: "Bro, you're buying roses and bug spray. What kind of romance novel are you living in?"
Me: "Shut up."
Ray: "No, I mean it! The man bites you, bleeds you, breaks your cups, and you still buy him flowers just because I said it's romantic? You're whipped, dawg. Just admit it."
Me: "I'm not whipped."
Ray: "You're basically a pancake at this point."
I hung up.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Ray texted:
"Don't forget the wine. You'll need it when the bat starts singing."
He's not wrong.
Across the street, there's Leanâagainâtangled in fairy lights, trying to rescue a cat that clearly doesn't want him.
He waves at a baby like nothing's wrong.
Like he didn't just almost electrocute himself.
And I swear⌠I can't even be mad.
Maybe Ray's right. Maybe I am whipped.
But if loving a walking disaster is a crime, then slap the cuffs on me, officer.
Oh, lookâhe's wobbling home, looking defeated. Good.
Maybe he'll finally stay put.
Anyway, I gotta swing by Ray's mansion to pick up that wine he got for Lean as a New Year's gift.
And no, I'm not tasting it. Christmas was enough traumaâI can't handle another sip of that cursed liquid.
ââââââââ
I trudge toward Ray's mansion, bouquets awkwardly balanced in one arm, cupcakes squished in the other, mosquito spray dangling like some perfunctory talisman against the apocalypse.
Ray opens the door before I can even ring. Of course he does. Of course.
"Ahhh! The wolf arrives! Bouquet in hand, cupcakes in another, bug spray dangling like a medieval knight about to joust. Who even are you?" He cackles, one eyebrow raisedâand suddenly lunges at me, arms wide, crawling up on me like he's auditioning for the role of clingy koala in a Shakespearean tragedy.
I⌠instinctively cradle him. Yep. Me, Dominic Quinn, 6'4" wolf, now holding a grown man of 6'3" like a baby. Redhead, sunshine energy, all flailing limbs and dramatic squeals, butt resting in my forearm, hands gripping my shoulders while I pat his back like a professional in "adult human babysitting 101."
"Ray," I growl, "I'm here for the wine. That's it. I did not ask for a commentary on my dignity. And climb down off me!"
But Ray? Oh, Ray. He wraps his arms tighter around my neck like a oversized, traumatized koala, hiccupping stories about his psycho girlfriend clawing his ass and arms because he didn't get her the limited edition designer bagâmoney that went into booking my romantic setup. I'm awkwardly patting him, whispering soothing words, like some wolfish parent of a five-year-old trapped in a grown man's body.
"Yeah! Poor boy! Very sad! I told youâlemme eat her! That bitch don't deserve you, man! OkâŚok, don't cry. Good big boys don't cry⌠hereâŚhere boops for you!" I boop his nose.
Finally, he lets go, slipping down to stand on his own two feet. I stare at him. I have two chaos children in my life now. One bites, one sobs over psycho girlfriend. What did I do to deserve this?
Ray claps his hands like he's watching a reality show. "Oh, honey, your dignity left the room the second you decided to court a glittery vampire with anger management issues. I'm just documenting history!"
Dude, you were crying a minute ago. Who's crazierâyou or your girl?
I reach for the wine, but Ray snatches it first. "No, no, no. You must admire it, Dominic. Look at the craftsmanship! The elegance! The inevitable heartbreak this will cause if the vampire even smells it wrong! Imported from France. Aged thirty years. You're playing with fate here, Quinn."
"I don't have time to admire it," I mutter, shoving it into the duffel along with cupcakes, bouquets, and mosquito spray. "I have a night to plan. A New Year's Eve to survive."
Ray pouts. "Survive? Darling, this is thriving! You're buying roses, cupcakes, bug spray⌠love is happening. I am the architect of chaos and romance combined, and youâyou're just the delivery guy in the tragic hero costume. Wait⌠does that make me Cupid? Hehe."
I narrow my eyes. "Architect of chaos, my ass. I just want to get this over with before the bat goes feral."
He laughs so hard he almost topples over. "Oh, that's rich. You're a wolf pretending to be responsible, babysitting a vampire who thinks money is optional, and I'm supposed to believe you're the sane one."
I ignore him, stuffing everything into the duffel. My life choices flash like neon warnings. Why did I agree to this?
"By the way," Ray calls after me, "if you survive the evening without bloodshed, explosions, or accidental heart robbery, I expect a full report. With diagrams. And memes."
I turn slowly, glaring like a werewolf who just got invited to ballet, my ears flop out as I let out a tiny growl. "Ray. If I survive, it'll be a miracle. And don't even think about sending memes."
"Pfft. Dude, you look cute when flustered. Don't be late. I already scheduled them for 11:01 p.m. Happy New Year, my tragic wolfie!"
I leave, duffel slung over my shoulder, heart heavy with suspicion, joy, and terror in roughly equal measure.
Because tonight?
Tonight is going to be⌠epic chaos.
ââââââââ
The streets are quiet when I head homeâtoo quiet for a New Year's Eve.
Snow crunches under my boots like brittle bones. The streetlights flicker like they're holding their breath, and all I can think is, why does every "romantic" plan I make feel like prepping for a hostage negotiation?
My duffel bag's heavier than it should beâflowers, cupcakes, wine, mosquito spray, and regret.
Mostly regret.
I mutter to myself as I walk.
"Ray's insane. I'm insane. The vampire's definitely insane."
A trio of stray cats glance at me like they agree.
"Yeah, thanks for the moral support," I tell them.
By the time I reach the cabin, my brain's already drawing mental flowcharts:
Plan A â Set the mood. No explosions.
Plan B â Survive.
Plan C â If all fails, fake my own death and move to Alaska.
The porch light's on.
Of course it is.
Because my vampire can't stand darkness unless it's for dramatic effect.
I pause at the door, take a breath. The air smells like coffee, paper, and faint panic.
Something tells me whatever's waiting inside isn't peace. It's⌠Lean.
The door clicks open.
And there he is.
Sitting stiff on the couch like a crime scene mannequin. Big eyes, lips pursed, hands behind his back like he's hiding state secrets.
The room looks like Cupid had a breakdownârose petals, half a mug of coffee, and a suspiciously folded letter sitting on the table like an abandoned confession.
"Hey, bloodsucker," I say, stepping inside, trying to sound normal.
Bag slung over my shoulder. Smile optional.
He looks at me with the intensity of a telenovela heroine catching her lover sneaking out at dawn.
"SoâŚ" he starts. "Where were you?"
"Out," I say.
(Already regretting it.)
"Out where?"
"Just out."
"That's what serial killers say!"
"âŚwhat?"
He crosses his arms, dramatic cape swish and everything. "If you're planning to sell me, at least let me pack my moisturizer."
I choke. "What the hell goes on in that head of yours? And bro, I definitely saw you following me. Believe meâyou are ass at stalking."
"Romantic paranoia," he says proudly. "It's hereditary."
And that's when I notice itâ
A single blue rose sticking out of the duffel bag.
His eyes go wide. Like I just pulled out a ring.
Oh no.
Don't say anything stupid, Lean.
He gasps softly. "Proposal⌠or murder⌠and bury me with the rosesâ"
There it is.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Lean. It's a rose. For decoration."
He squints. "Decorations don't look that romantic unless they're covering a coffin."
"Jesus Christ."
"Don't bring him into this! I am a vampire! I am scared of that guy gives my ear an itch."
He's standing now, hands on hips, looking like a betrayed soap opera protagonist while I just⌠stand there holding a duffel full of chaos and a future migraine.
I sigh, drop the bag on the counter, and mutter, "You know, for someone who's technically dead, you sure make my blood pressure skyrocket."
He smiles sweetly. "That's love, Puppers."
And the worst part?
Maybe it is.