Noxwood, 2002- Belmont 

The evening was unusually dark and chilly, and the deserted streets were a stark contrast to the crowds of New York. My legs moved stiffly, and my hands sank deep into my pockets. The party had been worse than I had expected, with giggling girls and music that was far too loud. 

Sometimes I wondered why I stubbornly insisted on hanging out with humans at all, but sometimes the job required it.

The alleyways were dark, but I wasn't scared; it was me that everyone should be afraid of. It was creatures like me who hid under beds and in alleyways, waiting for their prey. At least, that's what the fairy tales and movies on repeat on the TV suggested.

My feet continued on in a strange rhythm; I no longer knew where I was, and it didn't matter much. I didn't want to go home. The apartment was too empty and quiet. I walked away from the world of humans and into neighborhoods that felt more like home, and a medley of scents immediately hit me. Food and sweat mixed with blood and the smell of various animals. 

Vampires weren't exactly welcomed in these neighborhoods, but as long as I kept my distance, no one would notice me. Were we welcomed anywhere, really?

A tingling sense of magic hung in the air; the sound of clinking glasses and fights echoed from basement windows further down the street. It was somehow calming, reminding me of my hometown, of Paris on the other side of the Atlantic.

When I walked the streets of humans, I often had several eyes on me; I assumed I was considered beautiful. That was at least what I had heard when girls ran their fingers admiringly through my long black hair. Too bad for them that I wasn't the least bit interested in their compliments. Here, the gazes were different; it was a peculiar feeling to be scrutinized, to be immediately recognized as a bloodsucking parasite, and I wondered if they could see it in me or if I had a special scent just like them? 

The wolves were the most suspicious of them all, and it struck me that I had never asked my teacher why we'd always hated each other. Or did we really? Maybe it was something that was expected of us.

"Speak of the devil," I sighed tiredly as a rough gang of broad-shouldered guys began to bicker loudly nearby, and I quickened my steps.

Sure, I could probably run faster than them, hide in the shadows, and all that, but I preferred to avoid a fight rather than draw attention to myself. That kind of attention was not what I was after. All I wanted was to walk the streets until the sun came up because for some reason, I slept better when the sun was shining outside my window.

The voices of the guys grew closer; damn, couldn't they just leave me alone? I hurried my steps, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. I quickly turned the corner into a narrow alley and ran straight into a wall of muscle and brown, curly hair that fell down the person's back. 

My hand flew up to my nose as I felt the blood beginning to trickle down to my upper lip. Fuck, how hard can a body be? I thought sourly as I glared up at the guy who looked down at me with an expressionless face.

The voices had caught up with me now, and I realized in despair that the guy in front of me might be one of them. But he stood just as still as before.

"Excuse me," I mumbled through the dripping blood and tried to squeeze past the body that was more than a head taller than me. 

The quite expressionless face began to look more and more amused as I tried to squeeze by him, pressed against the brick wall in a desperate attempt not to smear him with my nosebleed. 

"Who the hell builds houses this damn close together?!" I muttered, ducking under an elbow belonging to one of the big forearms crossed over the chest of the annoying, immovable roadblock.

Finally, I made it to the other side and was just about to walk toward the welcoming darkness when a deep voice echoed toward me."I'd recommend a path that leads somewhere," he said amusedly, meeting my desperate gaze as I turned around, "it's a dead end, cutie."

I let my eyes glide over the guy who was over a head taller than me, and I decided to keep my mouth shut, unsure if he intended to use me as a punching bag.

"You're not the type to learn from your mistakes?" he stated and leaned casually against the wall of the house.

"And what mistake was that?" I asked far too cheekily for my own good, but something told me I wasn't on the wolf's menu, not today at least.

"How would I know," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest, "it's not me hiding in a narrow alley."

I raised an eyebrow, "um, yes?"

"I'm not hiding," he simply stated, shoving his hands with the battered knuckles into the pockets of his jeans, which looked as worn as the spotted white T-shirt he was wearing. The whole outfit matched the dark circle under one eye and the split lip.

Maybe it was the scent of blood from a distance that had drawn me here in the first place? I groaned inwardly; my mistake had put me in an unnecessarily complicated situation, on a back street outside some shabby place. Now I stood here with a strange wolf without any damn explanation.

"If you say so," I replied with a shrug, examining the blood-splattered shirt.

"It was my choice," he muttered at my open curiosity.

"Okay," I laughed, "so I assume you catch people for payment, or throw them out?" I eyed him from top to bottom, "or do you fight for money? But in that case, you're probably not very good at it."

"Want a taste?" he growled; it was an animalistic sound that came deep from his broad throat, and suddenly I felt incredibly small.

It was far too late when I realized I was probably right; he fought for money, and considering his gloomy mood and the fact that he was hiding in an alley, the night's match had probably not gone well. He was hardly surrounded by a cheering fan club. Fuck, Belmont, I muttered to myself, couldn't you have said something smarter?

"Look, we can do this another time? After you've rested up and all? It feels pretty unfair otherwise," I replied, scratching my neck.

"No teeth," he mumbled before taking a stumbling step forward and sinking down on his haunches, his head hanging between his shoulders.

"Um, are you okay?" I asked cautiously, leaning a bit closer.

"Best day of my life," he muttered sarcastically before spitting out a mouthful of blood that stood out uncomfortably against the dark asphalt.

The smell of blood triggered my instincts, and I had to take a calming breath and close my eyes for a moment to ground myself. Shocked, I discovered that the guy had collapsed into a large, motionless heap when I opened my eyes. What the fuck, he was almost asking me to drain him.

I watched him for a while; I could hear a wheezing sound as he breathed, and I saw him press his hand against his ribs. A punctured lung, I thought, tilting my head. Maybe it would be best to end his suffering? 

Carefully, I took a step forward and crouched down to push aside some strands of hair and expose his neck, but something made me hesitate. If I saved his life, maybe he would do the same for me someday?

As I stood in the dim light of the alley, memories flooded back, transporting me to the bustling streets of New York where I had spent years weaving through the chaos with Clocksworth by my side. Those were days filled with frenetic energy and late-night adventures, the city a blur of neon lights and endless possibilities.

Clocksworth had been my anchor, the one constant in a world that often felt like it was spiraling out of control. Our days were a whirlwind—visiting art galleries in SoHo, scavenging for vinyl records in dusty shops, and spending countless nights debating philosophy over whiskey in cramped bars. He had a mind like a steel trap, filled with obscure facts and theories that challenged my own limited understanding of the world. He made me question everything I thought I knew, urging me to dig deeper and explore the uncharted territories of my own mind.But as the seasons changed, so did our dynamic. 

Clocksworth became obsessed with his past, often disappearing for days at a time. I watched as he grieved his dead husband. I tried to reach out, to remind him of the laughter and the adventures we once shared, but he was elusive, slipping further away with each passing day.

It was during one of those long nights, while I stared out at the skyline from our tiny apartment, that I realized how far we had drifted. I missed my lover, my creator and my friend—the one who would watch me dance in the rain with a loving smile on his lips, who believed that life was meant to be lived without fear. 

The weight of my loneliness became suffocating, and I knew that I had to make a choice: to either accept this new reality or fight to bring back the vibrant spirit that once thrived between us.

Looking back now, I realized that those years shaped me in ways I never fully understood until they were gone. Clocksworth was more than a companion; he was a mirror reflecting my hopes, my fears, and ultimately, my desires. But with the passage of time, I learned that sometimes, people change—sometimes, they drift away, leaving only echoes of laughter and the bittersweet sting of memories in their wake.

 Often I found myself wandering the city streets, restless and anxious, trying to burn off some energy so the longing would go away.

The large fist burst through the air so quickly that I barely had time to react before it took a firm grip around my embarrassingly slender neck. The black strands of hair stuck to my forehead, and it wasn't long before I was flying headfirst into a concrete wall.

"You sly little bastard, you stole from me!" he hissed low in my face, and it struck me at close range that all the cuts and bruises were virtually gone from the relatively handsome face in front of me. Relatively, because who goes and gets smitten to a wolf?

"G-great..! Y-you're alive!" I stammered, managing to force a smile while thanking the gods that I was immortal and didn't need to breathe.

"And it sure as hell isn't thanks to you, leech," he spat, fixing his eyes so intensely on mine that I raised my hands to the sky in an innocent gesture for a few seconds before my hands tightened around his wrist again.

"Um... yes it was?" I croaked, giving him an innocent look.

"How did you unlock my phone?" he hissed.

"Face ID?"

The grip around my neck tightened, and I flailed my red Converse about an inch above the cobblestones. "And why the hell did you call him?!"

I swallowed hard, pondering how to respond. To be honest, I had really thought I was doing something good, and his reaction was not what I had expected. "You had missed calls," I replied quietly.

"And?"

"I had a feeling someone was worried about you," I said with a shrug, watching how his face began to soften, and I could finally feel solid ground beneath my toes again.

"You should have let me lie there; I heal quickly," he muttered irritably, releasing his grip on me so that I fell flat on the ground, very uncat-like and more like a clumsy frog.

I nodded a few times and licked my dry lips before getting up to brush off my light gray tight jeans. "Sure thing, dude, I'll remember that for next time."

"Next time, you'd better stay away from me," he grumbled irritably.

"Next time, I'll remember to bet on the other guy," I grinned, winking with one eye.

"Go to hell," he muttered, but something in his gaze said otherwise; something I had said had amused him.

Then I did something stupid, something I would surely regret. I returned his phone, but what he didn't know was that I had put my number in his contacts. Like in a bad romantic movie, I would go and hope he would find it, but what the hell, I had already died once.

My pretend life as a made-up human filled my days with dull routine, but my mind was occupied with other things. Brown curls and icy blue eyes, which weren't so icy when it came down to it. I had seen them sparkle when I challenged him, and I suspected the wolf enjoyed playing cat and mouse.