The nighttime streets pulsed with life—laughter spilling from taverns, the echo of hurried footsteps, the smell of cheap liquor, sweat, and warm blood that clung to every passing human. Neon lights flickered and reflected off rain-dampened pavement, painting the crowd in streaks of red and gold. Donovan moved through it all with an easy grace, his towering frame cutting a path as if the sea of mortals parted for him alone. One broad arm draped casually but firmly over Caroline’s shoulders, pulling her close enough that the brush of her hair tickled against his jaw. The dark weight of his coat swayed around his long legs, and with every measured step, his silver-capped fangs glinted faintly beneath the dim streetlamps.

Caroline’s crimson eyes darted from face to face, catching the curious glances that slid their way—humans drawn by her otherworldly beauty yet blissfully ignorant of what lingered just behind her smile. She exhaled a soft, frustrated sigh, her breath curling pale in the cool air. Her voice, hushed and restless, brushed against his ear.

The faintest curl of amusement tugged at his lips. His cane—a sleek piece of dark wood capped with an ornate silver wolf’s head—struck the ground in rhythm with his stride, each tap echoing like a metronome beneath the thrum of the city. His silver eyes, calm and unreadable, scanned the crowd, always aware, always watchful.

And though the humans brushed and jostled against them, none dared linger too long near Donovan, as though some primal instinct urged them to move aside. Caroline, pressed to his side beneath the protective weight of his arm.