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Your hand smoothly slides down your side, wrapping around the grip of your revolver before you hear another pop, accompanied with a soft groan. Your brow furrows, and you shove the rabbit into the bag with one hand before looking up to see a man shoving his shoulder back into place. There's a scowl on his face as he digs his fingers into the muscle above, your eyes widening as you silently pack up, your body low to the ground. You carefully hitch your bag over your shoulders again, warily approaching him and keeping a thick slice of distance between you and him.

He hears you before you can say anything, his head whipping up quickly to lock eyes with you. They're dark brown, lined with lashes long enough to touch his cheeks and thick brows fixed in the middle as he practically glares up at you. You raise a brow as an odd feeling stirs in your belly, your skin prickling all over once more as you tuck your hands into your coat pockets before tilting your head at him.

"Are you hurt?" Your voice is rough from hours of silence, "shouldn't be out here alone. Not safe for someone like you."

He looks insulted as his lips part, when you notice a gash along the thigh of his pants. You peer over slightly, not seeing anything in the setting sun before he brings a hand to cover it.

"I'm fine," his own voice is raspy, but there's a depth to it that melts in your ears. You suppress a shiver threatening to snake down your spine, your tongue running over your teeth as you shrug. Your boot nudges the bottom of his with an unimpressed look before he huffs, "there is a plethora of reasons that could prove I'm fine. Take my word for it."

You snort, "you're really in no position to be resisting help, buddy. This is vampire country."

"Trust me, baby," he rolls his eyes. "The only person in potential danger here is you."

"And I'm supposed to believe you?" You know you sound bored as you lean against one of the trees, clicking your tongue as he stands. He wipes the seat of his pants off, his hand sliding away from the gash in his pants. You glance at it, seeing the wound closing itself up — devoid of the crimson liquid of life. His eyes are hot as they trail down your body, before they meet yours — and you feel your stomach turn at the softness in their depth.

The same canines you'd seen dozens of times sparkle behind plump lips, "I'd hope you would."

"Please, don't kill me. Oh, God, think of my family." Your voice is monotone as you sigh, and you don't notice the small smile that cracks on his lips. "I didn't think I'd come across one of you so quickly."

"You didn't come across anything," he replies, his fingers tugging at the tear in his pants. He frowns, seemingly annoyed before looking back up at you. He sucks his teeth, "you've got really shitty survival skills. Anyone else would've killed me by now."

"I like to play nice with the puppies, what can I say?" You shrug, before flipping your knife out of your pocket and twirling the blade through your fingers, "but you're boring. All the others give me a little something to work with."

You're in front of him in two strides, the tip of your knife tapping his chin as he lets you lean into his space, "talk about shitty survival skills. You're just gonna let me kill ya?"

He glances at the knife in your hand, raising a brow before a smile crosses his lips. He darts his tongue out, dipping his head slightly and catching the tip of the silver blade on the wet muscle. He flattens his tongue against the metal, licking the blade before pressing a quick kiss to it. His eyes lock with yours, and you ignore the heat surging in your ears as he flicks the blade with his fingers.

Something in your chest feels different. No flight, no fight…

Freeze.

"You don't scare me, baby." He shrugs, "don't worry about me, though. I'm just passing through."

You can't reply before he's pulling the knife out of your hand, holding it like it has personally offended him. He stares at the blade, your name engraved into the blade, "Y/N, Laurestine Village. Huh."

Your hand has slid down your hip, your fingers once more wrapping around the grip of your revolver before he sucks his teeth, not even looking at you.

"If you're going to shoot me, you need to move just a little bit faster."

You don't get a chance to pull it out before you realize you're on the forest floor, the revolver knocked out of your reach as your arms get pinned to your sides by strong legs. He seems amused as you glare up at him, loosening his left leg and letting your hand slip out. You land a fist to his hip, earning a shrug as he grabs your wrist and pins it to the ground with ease.

"I will say, this is the most interesting handshake I've ever experienced." He's so close to you that you can feel his breath on your lips; only for your immediate response to be to spit in his face. It lands on his cheek, and he huffs out a laugh before leaning closer and touching the spot to your own face. He smears your saliva onto your skin, before scrunching his nose, "at least let me open my mouth for you next time, doll."

"Ugh!" You recoil as much as the ground beneath you will allow, "get the fuck off me if you're not going to rip my throat out."

"I fear I can't do that, baby. You're…interesting. And you smell amazing, might I add." He shrugs, "now…I'm gonna let go and you're gonna play nice, hm?"

"Fuck off." "See, now, that's just not nice. You're totally cramping my style right now."

"Aren't you supposed to be, like, a million years old? Why do you talk like that?!" You try to weasel your wrist out of his hold, "let me go."

"You're actually so cute, you know." He leans over you again, before he wipes your cheek with his knuckles. "Been a while since a pretty thing like you walked these woods. Then again…you're not all that human, are you?"

You still, your brows furrowing as he winks down at you before he pinches your revolver between two fingers and places it on your upper belly. He turns it, flipping the barrel out, "silver bullets, hm? You really hate my guts."

"I don't even fucking know you." "Then why are you trying to kill me, sweetheart?"

You scowl, "don't call me that. Get off."

"You know the rules, Y/N of Laurestine. I get off, you play nice. It's the only way we both make it out of this unscathed, you know, and I really wanna make it home tonight. My roommate brought his feeding friend over and she's cute." He speaks pointedly, but there's a lilt in his voice that gets under your skin. You let a hard breath of frustration out through your nose, your teeth gritting against each other as you speak.

"Fine. Get off."

He smiles down at you cheekily, your brow furrowing deeper as he clicks your revolver closed. He sets it down next to you, before holding your knife up and doing the same. You huff as he lets go of your wrist, before letting your other hand slip out from where it was wedged to your body by his knee. You rub your wrist immediately, feeling the agate ring missing as your hand slides down the side of your palm — only to see it now sitting on his pinky finger.

"Give that back." "No, it's my souvenir. The Y/N of Laurestine almost killed me on Celandine Hill, circa my potential death date."

Your jaw is tight as you stare up at him, annoyance stirring in your belly as his knuckle gently tilts your chin in either direction. He runs it up your jaw, down the slope of your throat before tracing a circle around the obsidian pendant resting in the dip of it. You're sure he can feel your heartbeat thundering as he presses two fingers to your pulse point, but he says nothing as he blinks down at you before his lips part with a question.

"Do they know what you are?" He asks, a flash of something in the back of his eyes that makes your blood boil.

"That doesn't even make sense," you shove his hand away. "Get off me before I kill you."

"You're so pretty when you talk like you have any power in this situation, baby." He smiles down at you, and your eyes catch the soft crease of a dimple on his cheek as he tilts his head at you. "My question is simple. Straightforward. Do they know what you are?"

He leans a bit more, crossing his arms on his chest as he nibbles on his lip, "you're that apothecary's kid, aren't you? Or at least, you pretend to be. You look nothing like them."

Something about the way he's looking down at you pins you even deeper to the ground than the weight of his body ever could. You feel an odd humiliation bubble in your chest as you try to keep your face blank, turning away from him as his nose brushes yours — only to hear a deep inhale beneath the shell of your ear.

"I'm going to get up, and you're going to be on your way. Am I understood?" His voice is low, almost backed with a bit of a bite as he makes you look at him. His cool fingertips dig into your cheeks in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster, and you ignore the way your nose and throat begin to burn with the ache to cry, "Y/N."

"Get the fuck off me." You mutter thickly, shoving his hand away angrily. He lets it fall away, rolling his eyes with a huff before rolling off you. He stands, and you ignore the way he holds his hand out to help you up. You shove your gun back into your holster against your better judgment, sucking your teeth as you try to clear your head of the daze attempting to fill it. You wipe the blade of your knife against your pants, and the itch in your palm is screaming for you to drive it deep into his chest before the sound of his voice makes your ears twitch.

"See you around, Y/N."

You scowl, but the words die in your throat as he disappears. You close your eyes, roughly running a hand over your face in frustration as you feel tears prick at your eyes. An annoyed breath is pushed through your nostrils as you grab your knapsack from where it was flung across the roots of the tree you'd been pinned down next to.

A feeling of inadequacy settles in your bones as you hitch the bag back over your shoulder, your fingers tight around the straps as you stare into the dark forest. You can see your cabin not even fifty yards away — sanctuary.

You should've killed him.

You could've, he was right there. You could've killed him the moment you noticed the bloodless gash on his thigh, the moment you felt the way your skin prickled the second time, and you don't understand why you didn't. Why you couldn't bring yourself to fulfill your threat, why you felt rooted in place, why his question bothered you so much.

Something rendered you fully useless in his presence, in a way that was debilitating. In a way that felt humiliating, in a way that made you rapidly blink back tears as you force one foot in front of the other in the direction of your cabin.

And you feel small as a voice in the back of your head tells you to just turn around and go home.

You've never been one to listen.