#daniel wagner

You had been a huge fan of Greta Van Fleet for years, if you were being honest. Hours upon hours of listening to their music and dreaming of getting to see them live. And when it finally happened, it was even better than you had imagined. Especially when, after the show, you bumped into the drummer while trying (and failing) to find your car in the parking lot.

"Hey, you lost?" You heard someone say.

Turning around, you were shocked to be met with Danny, the drummer of the band. He had his usual 10,000 watt smile, though his eyes seemed oddly illuminated under the light of the streetlamps and the moon.

"You- um, Hi! You're, uh, Danny!" You sputter.

"That’s my name," he chuckles, the sound a warm, raspy rumble that seems to vibrate in your chest. He takes a step closer, and you catch the scent of him- something like sandalwood and ozone, the smell of a summer storm right before it breaks. "You need help looking for something?"

You blink, your brain struggling to process that *Danny Wagner* is standing three feet away from you, looking at you like you’re the only other person in the parking lot. "I-yeah, I guess. I can't find my car. I think I parked near a fence... or maybe a tree? It's dark."

“These parking lots will do that to you," he says sympathetically. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tilting his head. "I can help you look if you’d like?”

"Really? You’d do that?" You ask, trying to keep your voice from cracking. The idea of wandering the dark lot with Danny Wagner is both a dream come true and slightly terrifying, though you can't quite put your finger on why your heart is hammering against your ribs like this.

"Of course," he says, falling into step beside you. He’s taller than he looks on stage, his frame casting a long shadow under the amber glow of the streetlights. "Besides, it's safer in pairs. Never know what kind of trouble is lurking around this late at night."

"Well, it's definitely this way," you say, pointing vaguely toward a row of dimly parked sedans, though your confidence is thin. You start walking, and he matches your pace easily, his long legs eating up the distance.

"Good thing I have a built-in compass, then," Danny teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. It’s a playful gesture, but the impact feels heavier than it should, solid and warm through the fabric of your jacket. "Or at least, a very good sense of direction."

You laugh, trying to play it cool. "Is that a Danny talent?"

"Yeah, it’s a Danny talent," he says, his voice then dropping an octave, "I'm usually good at finding whatever it is I want."

The air between you seems to thicken, charged with that static electricity of a coming storm you sensed earlier. He turns his head to look at you, and the streetlamp catches his expression full on. He grins again, wide and unguarded, and you notice it immediately- his canines.

They’re sharp points of white that glint dangerously in the yellow light, far more pointed and predatory than any human teeth you’ve ever seen. For a second, your brain stutters, trying to rationalize the anomaly. Veneers? Caps? A stage prop he forgot to take out?

He snapped his mouth shut, the playful glimmer in his eyes dimming just a fraction, replaced by a flicker of something that looked like self-consciousness.

"You're staring," he observed, his voice lighter now, though a thread of tension ran underneath it. He shot you a sidelong glance, the amber hue of his irises seeming to catch the streetlamp glow and hold it. "Do I have something in my teeth? Or are you just admiring the view?"

Your face heated up, but before you could stammer out a lie about dental work or fangs, you jumbled out some words. "Sorry, you're scary." you stammer out, unsure why you said that.

He just grins. "Scary? I promise I'm not..." He trails off, stepping closer, and you realize he’s sniffing the air slightly, just a subtle twitch of his nose. "But I know I can be... intense."

You swallow hard, your back bumping gently against the side mirror of a car you hadn't realized you were so close to. "Intense is one word for it," you manage to squeak out, your eyes drawn inexorably back to his mouth. He parts his lips slightly to speak, and the light catches the edge of a tooth that is definitely, undeniably pointed. "Are those... veneers?"

Danny lets out a short, surprised huff of laughter, but it doesn't quite reach those swirling, amber eyes. He leans one hand against the car beside you, boxing you in. The scent of ozone and sandalwood washes over you, stronger now, making your head spin. "Not exactly, no," he murmurs evasively.

You’re trapped between the cold metal of the car and the overwhelming heat radiating off him. "They make you look like you could bite someone's head off."

He laughs again, a low, dark sound that seems to vibrate through the car and into your spine. He dips his head closer, the curls of his black hair falling forward to frame his face.

"I do bite," he whispers, the playful tone undercut by a roughness that makes the hair on your arms stand up. "But I don't usually bite heads off. Too messy."

Your breath hitches. You know you should push him away, or laugh, or do something normal, but you can't look away from his eyes. Up close, they aren't just hazel anymore; they are burning, swirling pits of molten amber, the pupils dilated into wide, dark pools that swallow the light.

The scrape of his teeth against your skin is electric, a sharp, stinging pressure that sends a jolt all the way down to your toes. You don’t pull away; instead, your head tilts back of its own accord, a silent invitation that he accepts without hesitation. His lips are warm against the pulse point in your throat, and when the nip comes, harder this time, enough to mark, a gasp gets caught in your throat.

Instantly, his tongue follows the sting, a slow, soothing drag over the sensitive skin that feels far more intimate than it has any right to be. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face flushed, his chest heaving slightly. Under the harsh wash of the parking lot lights, his eyes are entirely engulfed by that deep, burning amber, the pupils blown so wide that the color looks like a ring of fire around a black void.

The air feels too thin, suddenly. You reach up with trembling fingers to touch your neck, feeling the damp warmth of his spit and the dull throb of the mark. Your brain is screaming that this is impossible, that this isn't how meeting a rock star goes, and your instincts are telling you that you are standing in the presence of a predator who is choosing not to eat you.

"What are you?" The whisper scrapes against your vocal cords, barely audible, but you know he hears it. The way the air shifts around him, the way his head tilts with predatory precision, he catches everything.

Danny lets out a breath that sounds more like a rumble, his gaze dropping to your fingers still pressed against your throat. He reaches out, his hand enveloping yours, his skin burning hot. He pulls your hand away from the mark, interlacing your fingers with his, his grip firm and unyielding.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he says, a sad, crooked smile touching his lips. He lifts your joined hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that feels far too tender for a creature with eyes like that.

"Try me," you whisper, your voice trembling but steady enough to meet his challenge. You’re hyper-aware of the heat radiating from him, the way his breathing has synced with yours, heavy and ragged.

He lets out a sound that’s more of a half-laugh, and then his expression shifts. The playful rock star facade melts away, leaving something ancient and feral staring out from behind those amber eyes. His lips pull back, just slightly, revealing those impossible sharp teeth again, and a low vibration starts in his chest—a rumble that you feel in your bones more than you hear.

"I'm not like the guys in the band," he whispers.

He steps closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you, his hips pressing gently against yours. "I'm not like anyone you've ever met. I'm a monster, sweetheart," he growls, the sound rough and textured, tearing out of him with a force that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "I'm a werewolf."

Your shoes suddenly slam against the asphalt, scuffing frantically as you scramble for purchase, your breath tearing out of your lungs in sharp, panicked gasps. Logic, survival instinct, whatever it is that usually governs human behavior, it all shuts down. The only thing functioning is the primal part of your brain screaming *run*.

You don't look back. You can't. If you see those eyes glowing in the dark again, you think your heart might actually stop.

You weave through a row of cars, dodging side mirrors. The venue is far behind you, the security lights fading into a dim haze. You’re running toward the tree line at the edge of the lot, toward the deeper darkness, because the shadows behind you feel heavy and suffocating.

Your lungs burn, the cold night air clawing at your throat as you hit the grass just beyond the pavement. You expect heavy footsteps thundering behind you, the sound of a man giving chase.

But there is nothing. Just the terrified rhythm of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears and the rustle of dry leaves under your fleeing feet.

Then, a voice, calm, terrifyingly close, drifts from the shadows to your left.

"You're going to trip," the voice says, laced with that same dark amusement, but lacking any trace of exertion. "And that would be a shame.”

You skid to a halt, chest heaving, and spin around. He’s not winded. He’s not even sweating. Danny is leaning casually against a thick oak tree about twenty feet away, his hands buried deep in his leather jacket pockets, one ankle crossed over the other. He looks like he’s waiting for a bus, not hunting a fleeing human through the dark.

"How...?" you gasp, bending over to clutch your side as a stitch flares up. "You were... right there."

"I'm fast," he says simply, pushing off the tree with an unhurried grace. He doesn't run, his long legs still closing the distance between you with terrifying ease. The moonlight catches his face, and the amber of his eyes seems to spill over, drowning out the human color entirely.

"It's the moon," he says, his voice soft but carrying effortlessly through the clearing. He takes another step, and you stumble backward, your heel catching on a root. You don't fall, but the stumble breaks your precarious balance. "She makes me restless. She makes me... hungry."

He says the word with a relish that makes your blood run cold, even as your body betrays you with a strange, flushed heat. You look around frantically for somewhere to go, somewhere to hide, but the trees here are sparse, their trunks thin and offering no cover.

"You're not running anymore," he observes. He’s not even panting. It’s infuriating and terrifying all at once. "Why did you run, sweetheart? You asked me to tell you."

"I don't know," you admit, your voice cracking as you press your back against the rough bark of the nearest tree, holding your ground only because your legs refuse to work anymore. "Instinct, I guess? You just told me you're a monster." You force yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes wide and pleading. "Are you going to kill me?"

Danny throws his head back and laughs, a sound that echoes through the quiet woods, loud and uninhibited. It’s not the cruel laugh of a villain; it’s genuine, as if you’ve just told the funniest joke he’s heard all night.

"Kill you?" He lowers his head, shaking his curls, his eyes flashing with amusement. "God, no. That would be such a waste." He steps closer, and the shadows seem to cling to his leather jacket like a second skin. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it ten feet, sweetheart.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at that declaration, the raw honesty in his voice striking a chord of fear deep inside you. "Then what do you want?" you whisper, watching the way his gaze rakes over you, heavy and intent.

He stops right in front of you, invading your personal space with a confident ease that makes your head spin. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch searing against your chilled skin.

"I told you," he murmurs, his eyes dipping to your lips before dragging back up to meet your wide-eyed stare. He leans in, trapping you against the tree, his face inches from yours. "I'm hungry."

The way he says it makes your knees weak, a terrifying mix of predator and lover. He licks his lips again, slow and deliberate, and you can see the tip of his tongue is slightly pointed too.

"Not for food," he clarifies, his voice dropping to a rumbling whisper that vibrates against your chest. He presses his hips forward, pinning you harder against the rough bark, and you can feel the undeniable proof of exactly what he is hungry for.

The friction is undeniable, a hard, heavy heat that sears through the denim of your jeans. He rolls his hips, grinding the thick length against your thigh with a deliberate, languid pressure that draws a ragged gasp from your throat. The sheer size of him is shocking, a rigid line that feels far too large to be contained by his tight pants, and the realization sends a fresh jolt of terrified electricity down your spine.

"Feel that?" he growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest where it presses against yours. He doesn't give you a chance to answer, just shifts his weight again, dragging that thick hardness along your leg until your knees are trembling and your vision is blurring at the edges. "That's what you do to me."

His amber eyes burn into yours, wild and unblinking, as he grinds down again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch of the throbbing heat he’s packing. The air around you feels thick with pheromones and the raw scent of him, of sandalwood and musk and something metallic, like the taste of blood in the water.

The sudden loss of his height takes you by surprise, leaving you gasping for air as the bark of the tree digs into your back. Before you can even process the shift, his hands are on you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and yanks them down to your ankles in one fluid, aggressive motion.

The cool night air hits your exposed skin, raising gooseflesh instantly, but it’s immediately replaced by the scorching heat of his breath. Danny drops to his knees before you, a king bowing before a conquest, looking up at you with those burning, inhuman eyes. He doesn't give you a moment to feel exposed; instead, he leans in and buries his face against the damp fabric of your panties.

A low, vibrating growl tears from his throat, the sound so primal it seems to shake the ground beneath you. He noses against the clothed heat of you, inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring as he scents your arousal.

"Fuck, you smell divine," he groans, the words muffled against you. He doesn't wait for permission; the wolf is done asking. His tongue slides out, hot and rough, dragging heavily over the silk of your panties. The fabric creates a frustrating, friction-filled barrier, but the heat of his mouth soaks through it instantly, teasing the sensitive folds beneath.

He laps at you with broad, flat strokes, tasting the dampness that has gathered there, growling low in his throat like he’s savoring a precious meal. Your hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more of that pressure, your hands tangling in his curly hair to anchor yourself.

He sets a punishing rhythm, that rough tongue dragging over the silk until the fabric is soaked through, clinging transparently to your skin. The friction maddening, a teasing preview of the heat waiting just behind the barrier. Every swipe of his tongue feels like a brand, marking you as his territory.

"Please," you gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, tugging hard enough to make him growl against your sensitive flesh. The vibration shoots straight up your spine, making your knees buckle. "Danny, please..."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes burning with a predatory intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. "I love the way you beg," he rumbles, his voice a dark, raspy scrape. "I need to taste all of you. No barriers."

He doesn't give you a moment to brace yourself. His fingers hook into the waistband of your soaked panties, and with a sharp, decisive tug that rips a gasp from your throat, he pulls them down to join your jeans around your ankles.

The cool air kisses your heated skin for a fraction of a second before his mouth is on you again.

This time, there is no barrier. The contact is electric- a hot, wet shock that makes your back arch violently against the tree bark. His tongue feels different now, not just human softness, but textured and rough, dragging over your clit with a pressure that borders on too much but feels exactly like what you need.

The sensation is overwhelming, a blurring of lines between pleasure and pain as he devours you with an enthusiasm that borders on violence. His hands grip the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, holding you open and pinned against the rough tree bark while he feasts.

He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh and shooting sparks of electricity up your spine. That rough, textured tongue swirls around your clit with devastating precision, alternating between broad, flat strokes that make your hips jerk and quick, flicking motions that threaten to shatter you completely.

"Danny," you gasp, your head falling back, eyes squeezing shut as the coil of heat in your belly tightens to a breaking point. Your fingers tangled desperately in his curly hair pull hard, but he only groans in approval, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge.

Your wetness is smeared across his cheeks and chin, dripping from his jaw like he's just indulged in the sweetest, messiest feast of his life. He doesn't seem to care about the mess; if anything, it only spurs him on. He tilts his head, changing the angle, and sucks your clit into his mouth with a harsh pressure that makes your vision go white.

"God, look at you," he mutters, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice wrecked and muffled. His breath fans hotly over your oversensitive flesh. "So fucking wet for me. Tastes better than I imagined."

He dives back in, his tongue plunging inside you, fucking you with the same rhythm he uses on the drums: a relentless, driving beat that you can't escape, can't do anything but take. The rough texture drags against your inner walls, finding spots you didn't know existed, and the coil in your belly snaps tight, warning signs flashing behind your eyelids.

The air shifts, the heat at your front vanishing so suddenly it leaves you dizzy. Before you can even mourn the loss of his mouth, hands are gripping your hips—firm, possessive, and inhumanly strong—and spinning you around.

Your front meets the rough bark of the oak tree, scratching against your tender skin, but the pain is distant, irrelevant compared to the primal anticipation flooding your veins. Danny kicks your feet apart with his boot, forcing you to widen your stance, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to the night air and his gaze.

"Perfect," he growls behind you, the sound rough and ragged, like gravel grinding together. "Just like that."

Over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight, and the sight steals the breath from your lungs. He's shedding his pants with rough impatience, and when he straightens up, the silhouette of him is terrifying and magnificent.

His cock is huge, thick and straining upward, flushed a dark, angry purple. But it's the base that makes your eyes widen and your body shudder uncontrollably. There's a heavy, swollen ring of flesh at the bottom -a knot- and you realize with a jolt of terrified lust that he wasn't lying about being a monster. He's built to lock himself inside you, to ensure you take everything he has to give.

"You shaking?" he rasps, one hand coming down to grip the back of your neck, holding you pinned against the tree. He steps in close, and you feel the scorching heat of him against your bare ass. He grinds that massive length between your cheeks, letting you feel the weight of the knot bumping against your skin.

"You're... you're big," you stammer, the words falling out of your mouth in a rush of breathless honesty. It’s an understatement, a laughable description for the sheer size of him, but your brain is too short-circuited to come up with anything better.

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates against your back, warm and surprisingly gentle considering the circumstance. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder blade, his lips soft against your skin. "I know. I'll go slow. I want to feel every inch of you opening up for me."

He reaches between your bodies, gripping the thick base of his shaft to guide himself forward. The blunt head of his cock notches against your entrance, hot and insistent. He pauses there, his hand coming up to grip your hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he holds you steady.

With a deep, guttural growl that seems to rise from the depths of his chest, he presses forward. The stretch is immediate and intense, a burning, full pressure that forces a sharp cry from your lips as your body struggles to accommodate him. He is thick and unrelenting, carving a path inside you that feels like he's leaving his mark.

"Fuck, you're tight," he hisses through clenched teeth, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your ear. He doesn't stop, but he obeys his promise to go slow, feeding that massive length into you inch by agonizing inch. "Relax for me, sweetheart. Let me in."

Your fingers scrabble uselessly against the rough bark of the tree, searching for purchase as he sinks deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of sharp sting and blinding pleasure as your walls are forced to stretch around him. He feels impossibly hot inside you, his temperature several degrees higher than a normal human's, heating you up from the inside out.

He keeps that torturous, steady pace, pulling back slightly only to push forward a fraction deeper, grinding his hips in slow circles that force your body to yield to him. Every time you think you’ve taken all you can, he gives you another inch, the heavy swell of that knot bumping rhythmically against your entrance, a promise of what’s to come.

"God," you whimper, dropping your forehead against the tree, the coarse bark scraping your skin. "You feel... so deep."

"Almost there," he grits out, his voice strained, the controlled rhythm faltering slightly as the urge to take you fast and hard battles with his determination not to break you. "You're taking me so well. Such a good girl."

The air around him seems to ripple, the temperature spiking as his control finally snaps. With a guttural groan, Danny’s pace shifts from that torturously slow slide to something urgent and demanding. He pulls back until just the head remains, then snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

You cry out, your braced arms trembling as he sets a rhythm that is purely animalistic, driving into you with a force that pushes your whole body up against the tree. But it’s not just the pace that changes.

A low, crackling sound reaches your ears, like dry twigs snapping. You risk a glance back, and the sight steals what little breath you have left.

Dark, coarse fur is bursting along his forearms, and where his human hands gripped you before, massive, curved claws now dig into the soft flesh of your hips, piercing the skin just enough to pin you in place without tearing you apart. The sides of his leather jacket strain and creak as his broad shoulders hunch, shifting and expanding.

But it’s his face that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. Ears, pointed and tufted with black fur, swivel atop his head to catch every ragged breath and whimper you let out. His smile is now filled with rows of jagged, ivory fangs designed for tearing.

He catches you looking, and a rumble shakes his chest. Gone are the amber eyes from before; now they are glowing, fiery coals set deep in a face that is terrifyingly beautiful.

You've never been more turned on.

The friction of him inside you is unbearable, a sweet, scorching agony that builds with every brutal thrust. He isn't holding back anymore; he’s taking what’s his, driving into you with a force that makes the tree bark groan against your back. The thick knot at the base of his cock bumps relentlessly against your entrance, stretching you wider with every pass, demanding entry.

"Danny!" you scream, your voice cracking as the pressure coils tight in your belly, threatening to snap. "I'm... I can't..."

"Do it," he snarls, his voice distorted, thick with the growl of the beast. "Cum for me. Now."

His command tears through your resistance like a claw through silk. The coil in your belly snaps, white-hot blinding you as your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body seizes, walls clamping down around him impossibly tight as the pleasure rips a scream from your throat.

Danny roars, the sound half-human howl, half-wild beast, and he bucks into you one last time, violent and deep. That massive knot breaches your entrance, a thick, burning stretch that locks him inside you, tying you together.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you is indescribable. You can feel the throb of his cock as he unloads, spurts of scorching heat flooding you so deep it feels like it’s filling your entire belly. It doesn't stop; he keeps coming, rope after rope, painting your insides with his release until your stomach feels heavy and full, a sensation so intense it borders on delirium.

As the flood of heat finally begins to ebb, the world narrows down to the point where your bodies are joined. The burning stretch of the knot hasn't faded; if anything, the swollen ring of flesh feels larger, a tight, unyielding seal ensuring that not a single drop escapes.

You are trapped, impaled on him, held up only by the tree at your front and the iron grip of his claws at your hips. Every throb of his cock inside you sends a fresh jolt of oversensitivity through your system, making your knees tremble violently.

Danny is panting behind you, hot, ragged gusts of air ghosting over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck. The fur on his arms brushes against your back, coarse and ticklish, a stark contrast to the length buried deep within you.

The minutes stretch out, suspended in the quiet aftermath of what just happened. The frantic rhythm of your breathing begins to slow, syncing with the deep, steady rise and fall of Danny’s chest against your back. The tension that had locked your muscles slowly bleeds away, leaving you trembling and weightless, utterly dependent on the strength of the arms wrapped around you.

It feels like an eternity before that swollen lock of flesh finally begins to subside. The pressure eases gradually, the agonizingly full sensation dulling into a heavy, throbbing ache. Danny makes a low, soothing sound in his throat, a rumble that feels less like a growl now and more like a purr, as he holds you steady, letting gravity do the work. When he finally slips free of you, a rush of warmth follows, trailing down your thighs, but he doesn't let you fall.

He shifts instantly, turning you around in his arms so your back is against the tree again, but this time his body is a shelter, blocking the cold night air. The changes are receding as fast as they came. The coarse fur vanishes from his skin, leaving only smooth, sweat-slicked flesh. The claws retract, his nails shortening back into human blunt edges, and the sharp, predatory lines of his face soften, his brow smoothing out. Those glowing amber eyes dim, fading back into the familiar hazel you saw earlier, though they remain dark, dilated, and filled with a concern that seems at odds with the creature he was just moments ago.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice raw and raspy, stripped of the animalistic growl from before. He reaches up, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. "You with me?"

You nod weakly, your head swimming, and he lets out a soft sigh of relief. He doesn't let go. Instead, he crouches down, keeping one arm firmly around your waist to support your weight while he uses his other hand to pull your jeans and panties back up your legs. His movements are painstakingly careful, his knuckles grazing your skin with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

When he stands, he doesn't step back. He gathers you against his chest, wrapping you tightly in his leather jacket, shielding you from the world. He tucks your head under his chin, one hand stroking your hair while the other rubs soothing circles against your back.

"Can I take you back to your hotel?" he asks, his voice a low rumble against your ear, still thick with the lingering remnants of his other form. "Get you cleaned up, tucked in safely?"

The thought of your own lonely hotel room suddenly feels unappealing. You look up at him, at the way his hazel eyes are soft with concern, the way his hands are still holding you like you're something precious. You don't want to be away from him yet. You don't want to let go of the warmth that radiates from him, the electricity that still hums between your bodies.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head slightly against his chest. "I don't want to go to my hotel."

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You need to rest, sweetheart. Trust me, after that, you need to sleep."

"I know," you say, lifting a hand to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your fingertips. "Take me to yours."

A flicker of genuine surprise crosses his face, quickly followed by a slow, widening smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. He looks down at you like you’re a mystery he’s just solved, and one he’s delighted to unravel.

"To mine, huh?" He lets out a soft, disbelieving huff, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "You really are full of surprises, aren't you?" He kisses you, a soft, lingering press of lips that tastes faintly of copper and musk. "Okay. If that's what you want, that's where we'll go."

He shifts his weight, keeping one arm securely around your waist, and bends to scoop up the keys he must have dropped in the grass earlier. With effortless strength, he guides you back toward the venue's parking lot. His support is steady, practically carrying half your weight as your legs wobble unsteadily over the uneven ground.

He helps you to your car, setting you in the passenger seat and draping his jacket over you as a sort of blanket. Climbing into the other side, he takes a moment to adjust the seat and steering wheel to his liking.

“You cozy there, sweetheart?” Danny asks, sparing you a glance before he pulls out of the now-empty parking lot.

All you can bear to do is give a sleepy nod and a yawn. You were exhausted, understandably. Danny seemed to find this cute, smiling and patting your thigh with an assurance that you’ll be able to get some sleep soon.

You doze off along the way, trusting him to get you both there in one piece. You find yourself waking once more when he’s gently lifting you out of the car and helping you stand. You’re in the parking lot of a nicer hotel, and the tour bus is parked out along the back of the lot. While in the elevator, you decide to ask him the question that’s been gnawing at the back of your mind.

Well, one of the questions, anyway.

“Why did you pick me?” You ask, leaning into him.

“Hm?” He hums out a noise of curiosity, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” You begin, suddenly self-conscious, “There were a lot of very… attractive people at the show. Why did you pick me?”

Danny laughs a bit as the elevator doors open, his voice soft and low, mindful of the other rooms. He swipes the keycard to let you both into his room as he explains.

“I couldn’t get your scent out of my head.”

“My… scent?” You asked, sniffing yourself as you pulled your shoes off.

“You humans all have specific scents. Some are nice, some are… rather unpleasant. You smelled irresistible. Like something I had to have. I could barely resist climbing off stage to search for where it was coming from. The rest of the band had to tell me to wait until after the show.” He chuckled, handing you some of his spare clothes to change into.

You took some time to clean yourself up in the bathroom, and thought about how wild this evening had been. You found out werewolves were real and slept with the drummer of your favorite band, all on the same night. After freshening up with a quick shower, you pulled on the clothes he’d given you. You recognized the “church of rock” shirt, as he wears it often and has had it for a few years. He had also given you some of his sweats, which were definitely too tall for you, pooling at your feet.

Emerging from the bathroom, you asked him another question you’d had.

“Are the others…?”

“Are they like me?” Danny finished your question, shaking his head. “No, they aren’t. That isn’t to say they’re human, per se. Just that they aren’t werewolves.” And before you could ask the follow-up question, he grinned and replied, “There’s a reason they’re such good singers and they’re so alluring. The water bill does get kind of crazy if all three stay in the same place though.”

You sat with this information while Danny showered, wondering just how many people you’ve passed on the street were secretly supernatural creatures. Werewolves, sirens… What else is real? Was Chris a vampire? Fae?

Your head swirled with these questions that you decided were better left unanswered in the end. All that mattered now was that you were cuddled up in bed with a very handsome and warm man who seemed to love being your personal heater. And when morning came, you were happy to swap numbers so you could continue talking.