Chapter Text
MORNING arrived like a bandit’s blade—swift, sharp, and unwelcome. Light pierced through the shed’s warped boards, laying stripes across moldering straw that stank of sheep and older, less identifiable things. Regis woke first, his heightened senses cataloging the world before he opened his eyes: the scrabbling of mice in the walls, the metallic tang of old blood from his patient in the cottage, the warm weight of Nora against him.
The scrape of pottery against wood shattered the morning’s tenuous peace. Two bowls of porridge appeared outside the shed, slamming down hard enough to splash their contents. The footsteps that delivered them retreated with the anxious haste of prey, crunching frost beneath worn boots.
"Fascinating," Regis murmured, more to himself than his companion. "How humans make even acts of kindness feel like threats."
Nora disentangled herself from their shared warmth, her movements carrying the fluid grace of something not quite human. Her tail - that betrayer of emotions she tried so hard to master - coiled tight with the wariness of one who knew human kindness often came with barbed edges. Her eyes darted everywhere but at him. She gently nudged the shed door open with her hoof, and as she reached for one of the bowls, her smile carried a brittle edge.
“At least she didn’t poison it,” Nora murmured, her voice laced with faint amusement as she reached for one of the bowls. She brought it close and sniffed delicately, her nostrils flaring. “Though, judging by the smell, a little poison might’ve done wonders for the flavor.” A shy smile tugged at her lips, and she bit her lip, hesitating before taking a tentative taste.
“A remarkable show of restraint,” Regis agreed dryly. “Though I suspect our hostess’s hospitality, like most things in this world, comes with a price.”
Nora parted her lips to speak, though before the succubus could utter a word, the cottage door flew open with enough violence to suggest its owner hoped to catch them at some nefarious act. The sound scattered a murder of crows from a nearby tree, their harsh caws carrying accusations in a language older than mankind.
"Surgeon!" The old woman's voice cut through the air like a rusty blade. "My Aiken's awake. Asking for you." A pause heavy with unspoken threats. "Just you, mind. Not the demon-whore."
The insult hung in the air like a slap. Regis watched as Nora's tail coiled so tight it might have strangled a lesser appendage. But when she spoke, her voice carried only weariness, not pain. "Go," she said, stirring the congealed porridge with mechanical precision. "Your patient needs you."
The words hung between them like fog - seemingly insubstantial, yet heavy with meaning. Regis found himself caught between duty and something else, something that made his carefully maintained control waver when she looked at him with those too-blue eyes.
"I won't be long," he said, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his lips.
"Take whatever time is needed." Her smile carried shadows of older hurts. "I'm not going anywhere." A pause, then softer: "I'm not sure I could, anymore."
The ‘for now’ hung unspoken between them as Regis left the shed and turned toward his patient’s cottage, leaving Nora alone with their cold breakfast and the morning birds. As he stepped inside the house, the cottage’s interior assaulted his senses: fear-sweat and willow bark tea, something burning in the hearth that might have once been porridge, and beneath it all, the copper-bright scent of fresh blood that made his fangs itch beneath his gums. The old woman hovered by the door like a particularly aggressive specter, twisting her apron between gnarled fingers that bore the dark stains of what might have been berry juice. Might have been.
Aiken lay on a narrow bed that had seen better decades, his remaining arm draped across his chest like a fallen branch. His eyes, when they fluttered open and found Regis, carried the dull shine of one hovering between pain and revelation.
“Master surgeon,” he croaked hoarsely, voice a weak rasp. “Wanted to thank ye. For the arm. For my life." His gaze drifted toward the window, where morning light cut through the unwashed glass. "And... your woman out there. Though I understand why you'd keep such a thing quiet-like."
"Aiken!" Martha's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't you be speaking of that creature! She's bewitched your mind with her devil's magic—"
"Hush, woman," Aiken wheezed. "Seen it before, ain't we? When old Tom's boy got himself caught by one of them succubus-things down Lindenvale way." He squinted at Regis. "Though you seem to have your wits more about you than most. Must be on account of your learning and such."
Regis felt an uncharacteristic warmth in his cheeks. The assumption needed immediate correction, yet he found himself hesitating. If they believed Nora was under his protection as a wife, they might be less likely to raise the alarm to any passing witchhunters or militia.
The man’s words hung in the air like smoke—acrid, choking, and nearly impossible to ignore. Regis examined the wound with careful precision, his movements betraying nothing of the alarm or the tension humming beneath his skin.
“My…wife,” Regis said carefully, slowly, choosing each word like a surgeon selecting instruments, “has experienced rather enough fear and prejudice for one lifetime. I trust you understand my desire to protect her.”
Martha hawked and spat in the fire, muttering prayers that seemed to consist mainly of creative suggestions for divine punishment. The flames danced higher, casting shadows that made Regis's own shadow seem to shift and writhe in ways that didn't quite match his movements.
"Wife!" Martha's laugh held no humor. "As if creatures like that can marry! As if-"
"Woman," Aiken's voice carried a warning sharp as steel. "Go feed the chickens before I forget my manners."
Martha shuffled toward the door, her muttered prayers growing more creative with each step. She cast one last suspicious glance at Regis before stepping out into the morning air, though whether she feared more for her husband's soul or her own was unclear.
"Sorry for the wife," Aiken said once she'd gone. "She means well. Just scared of what she don't understand." He winced as Regis began cleaning the wound. "Like I was, if I'm being honest. But a man sees things different, after. When death comes calling and monsters like your woman turn out kinder than men."
Regis applied a fresh poultice with careful hands, saying nothing. Sometimes silence was the better part of wisdom.
"Your woman," Aiken continued, his voice growing fainter. "She's not like the stories. Neither are you." He paused, breathing heavily through the pain. "World's not kind to them that's different. But then, world's not kind to much of anything these days."
Something tightened in Regis's chest - an emotion he wasn't quite ready to name. "No," he agreed softly. "It rarely is."
"You'll keep her safe, won't you?" Aiken's eyes had grown heavy with exhaustion and whatever herbs Regis had slipped into his tea. "Strange times we live in, when monsters protect monsters from men."
"Sleep," Regis suggested gently, adding another pinch of valerian to the cup by the bedside. "The wound needs rest to heal."
"Aye." Aiken's voice had grown faint. "Strange times indeed. Tell her... tell her thank you. For the help. Despite Martha's tongue."
Regis finished bandaging the man's stump in silence, his mind occupied with thoughts that would have surprised those who thought they knew what monsters dreamed of. Through the grimy window, he could see Martha in the yard, taking her frustrations out on innocent chickens as she scattered feed with more force than strictly necessary. Beyond her, the shed door stood slightly ajar, though Nora wasn't visible from this angle.
Regis stepped out into the morning air that carried winter’s first bite. His nostrils flared briefly in agitation at the sound of Aiken’s wife, Martha, the old woman’s voice cracking across the yard like a lash.
“My husband needs rest, surgeon,” the old woman snapped, making Regis’s eyes narrow slightly at her clipped tone. “You and your demon whore need to be gone. You’ve done your work. Take your devil and be gone! Here, for your troubles…”
She thrust a small pouch at him that clinked with the sorry sound of too few coins. Regis took it without counting—payment suddenly seemed trivial compared to the way Nora’s tail had curled tight around her ankle at the old woman’s words, visible through the shed’s warped boards.
"The wound needs cleaning twice daily," he said, his professional tone at odds with the blackness threatening to seep into his eyes. "Should you see signs of corruption-"
"We know our business," Martha snapped, though she took an instinctive step back. Even humans, it seemed, could sense when they stood too close to something wearing a man's shape. "Just take your creature and go."
"My wife," Regis corrected with deadly softness, "and I thank you for your... hospitality." He allowed just enough of his true nature to seep through that Martha's next prayer came out as a strangled gasp.
The shed's interior smelled of straw and lingering warmth. Nora knelt there, packing her herbs with the precise movements of one trying very hard not to think about other things. Her tail betrayed her though, coiling and uncoiling with agitation.
"Your patient?" she asked without looking up, her voice carrying forced lightness. "Will he live?"
"Provided infection doesn't set in and his wife's prayers don't summon actual divine intervention." Regis paused, watching how she sorted her herbs by smell rather than sight, her movements speaking of long practice. "He asked me to thank you. For your help."
She froze, her movements as still as a rabbit that's caught a wolf's scent. "Did he?" The words carried a lifetime of skepticism about human gratitude, though there was no bitterness in her voice—only a gentle sort of resignation that struck something ancient within him.
"Indeed." He moved closer, though maintained the careful distance of an alchemist approaching an unstable mixture. "Though there is something you should know." Nora's tail twitched in that particular way he'd begun cataloging, like a physician noting symptoms. "He seemed to be under the impression that you are...that you are my wife."
The yarrow slipped from her fingers like autumn leaves surrendering to gravity. Her tail coiled so tightly around her ankle it must have been uncomfortable, and a blush crept up her neck with the inevitability of dawn. "Oh," she breathed, then immediately ducked her head, letting her bangs fall forward like a shield. Then, so quietly he might have missed it without his vampiric hearing: "Did you... correct him?"
"I thought it prudent not to." Regis kept his tone as neutral as fresh distilled water. "Such an assumption might afford us certain protections in our travels. Humans are often less likely to raise the alarm about a succubus if they believe she's...already spoken for."
"I—I see." She nodded quickly, still not meeting his eyes. "It's a wise decision. Very sensible." Her tail unwound slightly, only to curl tight again, like a spring under tension. She gathered the fallen yarrow with fingers that shook just slightly.
A silence fell between them, heavy as lead. Through the wall, they could hear Martha still muttering as she went about her morning chores, punctuated by the alarmed squawking of chickens. A cock crowed, late for its dawn duties.
"We should go," Nora said finally, rising and brushing straw from her skirts with such careful attention that it was an excuse not to look at him. Her tail betrayed her agitation, swaying in that particular way he'd noticed it did when she was fighting some internal battle. "Before the good wife decides to fetch a priest. Or worse."
"Nora." Regis spoke her name before he'd quite decided what to follow it with, like a physician beginning an incision before determining its purpose. She paused, her hand on the door, shoulders tense. "About last night—"
"You don't have to say anything," she interrupted quickly, her voice barely audible above the morning breeze. Her tail curled defensively around her leg like a serpent seeking shelter. "I know I shouldn't have... that is, I didn't mean to impose. It was presumptuous of me to... to..."
"I wasn't going to apologize," he said quietly, the words precise as a surgeon's cut.
Her tail uncurled slightly, like ice beginning to thaw. "Oh," she said again, but this time the word carried a different weight entirely. She chanced a glance at him over her shoulder, then quickly away, though not before he caught the shy hope in her expression.
The morning light streaming through the door caught in her hair, reminding Regis of how she'd looked in the lantern light, trustingly asleep against his shoulder. He found himself stepping closer, drawn by something he wasn't quite ready to name. Her tail swayed uncertainly, not quite curling away.
The morning light streaming through the door caught in her hair, and Nora instinctively ducked her head, still unused to being seen in full daylight. Her tail curled protectively around her ankle as she felt Regis's gaze on her, though she couldn't quite suppress the small flutter in her chest at his proximity.
The morning light streaming through the door caught in her hair, reminding Regis of how she'd looked in the lantern light, trustingly asleep against his shoulder. He found himself stepping closer, drawn by her unconscious vulnerability. Her tail swayed uncertainly, not quite curling away.
"Your assistance last night was invaluable," he said softly. "Both with the patient and... after." She ducked her head at this, but he caught the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "I find myself rather grateful for the cold that necessitated sharing warmth."
A small sound escaped her, something between a laugh and a gasp. Her tail brushed against his leg, so briefly he might have imagined it, before curling back around her ankle in that endearingly shy gesture he'd come to recognize. "It... it wasn't that cold," she whispered to the floor, though her smile had grown despite her obvious embarrassment.
From the cottage came the sound of Martha's voice, raised in a complaint about something or other. Regis watched how Nora seemed to curl in on herself at the harsh sound, her tail wrapping protectively around her ankle.
"We really should go," she said reluctantly, adjusting her satchel's strap with unnecessary care. "Though... perhaps..." He noted how she faltered, her courage seemingly deserting her.
"Perhaps?" he prompted gently, finding himself oddly charmed by her hesitation.
"Perhaps it might be cold again. Tonight." The words came out in a rush, followed immediately by a deepening of her blush. He watched, fascinated, as she seemed to want to disappear into the floor, mortified by her own boldness.
"Indeed?" Regis said, allowing a hint of amusement to color his tone. "Though I must point out that, as a higher vampire, I'm hardly the best source of warmth. I believe it was you who provided that particular comfort."
He observed how her blush deepened impossibly further, her tail curling so tight it resembled a corkscrew. The gesture struck him as oddly endearing.
"I didn't mean... that is... oh, you're teasing me," she finished in a whisper, looking everywhere but at him.
"Merely making an observation," he said innocently, though his eyes glinted with barely suppressed mirth. "Though I must say, despite my rather cold nature, your presence made the night far more pleasant than my usual practice of transforming into mist."
She made a small, strangled sound and buried her face in her hands. Regis noticed, however, that her tail had begun to uncurl, swaying with what he was beginning to recognize as pleasure despite her embarrassment. He found himself oddly moved by how openly her tail betrayed emotions she tried so hard to hide.
"Now you're just being cruel," she mumbled through her fingers, though Regis noticed how her tail had begun to sway with barely contained pleasure.
"I? Cruel? When I've just confessed that your warmth was quite welcome to one as naturally cold as myself?" He touched her elbow gently, noting how she started at the contact before unconsciously leaning into it. "Come. Before our hostess decides to supplement our cold porridge with pitchforks."
Nora lowered her hands, revealing a face still pink but wearing a smile that made his eternally still heart stir. "At least the porridge was warmer than you," she whispered, then immediately looked mortified at her own boldness. Regis found himself oddly charmed by these rare moments of daring, how quickly they were followed by shy retreat.
"Only just," he replied, watching how her tail curled and uncurled in response to his voice. "Though I notice you didn't seem to mind my rather frigid nature last night."
Her tail coiled so tightly it was a wonder it didn't knot. Regis observed with fascination how she struggled to form words, her hands twisting in her skirts. "That's not... I mean, I didn't..." She took a steadying breath. "You were very... considerate. To let me stay close."
"The consideration, I assure you, was entirely mutual."
Martha's voice carried from the cottage, sharp with suspicion: "They still in that shed? What devil's business they up to?"
Regis watched how Nora instinctively pressed closer to his side at the hostile tone, her tail coiling defensively around her ankle. The gesture stirred something protective in him, an emotion he wasn't quite ready to name.
"Time to go," he said softly, but found himself oddly reluctant to step away from her proximity. "Shall we brave the morning together, wife?"
Her tail froze mid-sway at the word. "You shouldn't tease about such things," she whispered, but Regis caught the warmth in her eyes that belied her protest. He found himself increasingly drawn to these small contradictions - how her words said one thing while her unconscious gestures revealed another.
"Who's teasing?" he said mildly. "It's as I said—purely tactical."
The morning air hit them with the sharp bite of early autumn, though Regis noted with interest how Nora seemed to unconsciously lean toward his coolness rather than away from it. Martha stood in her doorway, watching them with narrow eyes as they emerged from the shed. He felt Nora draw closer to his side, her tail curling around itself once more.
"Remember," he called to Martha, letting his voice carry the professional authority of a surgeon, "twice daily changes of the dressing. And at the first sign of fever—"
"I'm aware, surgeon," Martha snapped. "Just take your demon and go."
"My wife," Regis corrected mildly, feeling Nora stiffen beside him, "and I thank you for your hospitality." He placed careful emphasis on the word 'wife,' noting how Martha's face twisted even as she took an unconscious step back. More importantly, he felt how Nora's tail briefly brushed against his leg, a gesture he was beginning to recognize as one of gratitude.
They set off down the forest path, and Regis observed how her tail gradually relaxed as they put distance between themselves and the cottage. The morning sun filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground with patches of light that seemed to dance as the breeze stirred the leaves. He found himself acutely aware of how she kept pace slightly behind him, close enough for protection but far enough to maintain propriety - or at least her shy attempt at it.
"You don't have to keep saying it," she said finally, her voice barely audible above their footsteps on the fallen leaves. "About... about me being your wife. Not when there's no one to hear."
Regis glanced at her, noting the way she studied the ground as if the scattered acorns held some fascinating secret. Her tail curved uncertainly, and he realized he'd begun to read its movements as clearly as expressions on a human face.
"Perhaps," he said carefully, "I find I don't mind saying it." Her tail brushed against his leg, and this time, he was quite certain it wasn't an accident. The gesture carried a vulnerability that touched something deep within him.
They walked in silence for a time, following the narrow forest path that wound between ancient oaks. The morning had grown warmer, though Regis noticed how Nora seemed content to stay close to his cooler presence. She paused occasionally to collect herbs as they passed, and he found himself watching how her tail swayed gently as she worked, betraying a contentment she rarely expressed in words.
"Dogbane," she murmured, kneeling to examine a small purple flower. She glanced up at him with that characteristic shyness that made her look away almost immediately. "Good for heart troubles." A blush crept across her cheeks as she added in barely a whisper, "Though I suppose you don't have much use for that."
"You are correct. Higher vampires require neither a heart to beat nor air to breathe to live," Regis replied, finding himself oddly charmed by her tentative attempts at humor. "Though mine does seem to be behaving rather peculiarly of late."
Her tail curled tight at this, and she busied herself with her herb gathering, though not before he caught the pleased flush in her cheeks. He watched how her fingers trembled slightly as she worked, her tail gradually unwinding to sway with barely contained happiness.
"I don't suppose," she said after a moment, still not looking up, "that there are many texts on treating vampire ailments?"
"Not particularly accurate ones, no," he answered, watching how she seemed to gather courage for each word. "Though I did once read a fascinating treatise that suggested hanging garlic would cure a vampire of all ills."
"Did it work?" Her tail swayed with barely suppressed amusement, and when she looked up, her eyes held a spark of mischief that disappeared as quickly as it came.
"By killing them, presumably."
A small laugh escaped her, quickly stifled by her hand. The sound stirred something in his chest, a warmth he hadn't felt in centuries. Her tail swayed more freely now, and he found himself cataloging each unconscious movement, learning to read the language of her emotions in every curve and twist.
"I don't suppose," she ventured after composing herself, "that you have any similarly dubious cures for succubi in your medical knowledge?"
"Well, there was one rather interesting document that suggested the only cure for a succubus was marriage to a respectable gentleman." He affected a scholarly tone, watching with fascination how her tail froze mid-sway. "The tedium of domestic life would overcome any demonic tendencies."
Her tail curled so tight it resembled a spring. "Is that so?" she managed, her voice slightly higher than usual. The blush that crept across her cheeks seemed to start at her collar and work its way up, and Regis found himself oddly captivated by its progress.
"Oh yes. Though I notice our recent tactical arrangement hasn't seemed to diminish your demonic nature in the slightest." He glanced at her with carefully maintained innocence. "Perhaps we're not being tedious enough."
"You," she whispered, her face flaming but her eyes bright with suppressed laughter, "are terrible."
"Merely keeping to my role as your theoretical husband. I believe teasing falls well within those duties."
Her tail brushed against his leg, and this time he was certain it was deliberate. The realization made something shift in his chest, a sensation both foreign and strangely welcome.
"And what other duties might those be?" she asked, then immediately looked mortified at her boldness.
The question hung in the air between them, carrying more weight than either had perhaps intended. Regis found himself studying how the morning light caught the uncertainty in her eyes, the way her tail curled protectively around her ankle even as it trembled with something that might have been hope.
He found himself in the peculiar position of a surgeon who, having made an incision, discovers the operation more delicate than anticipated.
"Well," he said carefully, watching how she seemed to hold her breath waiting for his response. "I suppose protection would be foremost among them." He gestured at the path ahead, where the forest grew darker. "Though I confess, I find myself rather more concerned with protecting you from others than the reverse."
Her tail curled thoughtfully around her ankle. "Is that why you didn't correct their assumption?" she asked in barely more than a whisper. "Protection?"
"Partially." The word emerged more softly than he'd intended. The path before them narrowed, forcing them to walk closer together. Her warmth radiated against his cool skin, a reminder of the night's shared intimacy that stirred something ancient within him. "Though I find myself questioning whether protection was my only motivation."
A twig snapped somewhere in the forest depths. Nora startled, instinctively pressing closer to his side. Her tail brushed his leg again, and this time it lingered, a tentative point of contact that sent an unexpected warmth through his eternally cold flesh. Regis found himself acutely aware of every small movement - the way she trembled slightly, how her breathing quickened when their shoulders brushed.
"I..." she began, then faltered. He watched her fingers twist in her skirts, a gesture he'd come to recognize as preceding some difficult admission. "That is... I don't mind. If you had other reasons."
The admission hung between them like morning mist, delicate and ephemeral. Regis found himself struck by the peculiar nature of their situation—a higher vampire and a succubus, playing at marriage while dancing around something that felt increasingly less like pretense. He noted how her tail swayed with nervous energy, betraying emotions she tried so hard to conceal.
"The world," he said finally, "has not been kind to either of us. Perhaps there's something to be said for finding comfort in unexpected places."
She nodded, a quick, shy movement. "Even if one of those places is rather cold?" Her voice was barely audible, but he caught the hint of teasing beneath her timidity.
"Even then." He allowed himself a small smile, watching how her tail curled with pleasure at his response. "Though I notice you don't seem to mind the chill."
"No," she whispered, and with careful deliberation, her tail curled around his wrist. "I don't mind at all."
The forest path wound deeper into shadow ahead of them, promising new uncertainties and dangers. Yet Regis found his attention drawn more to the gentle pressure of her tail against his skin, and the way she'd begun humming softly—some old folk tune about lovers meeting in the woods. Her voice was barely more than a breath, as if she feared being overheard even by the trees. It occurred to him that perhaps their tactical arrangement wasn't quite as tactical as he'd first suggested. And strangest of all, he found he didn't mind that realization in the slightest. There was something oddly compelling about her mix of timidity and trust, the way she seemed to gather courage from his presence while still maintaining that endearing shyness.
The path ahead split unexpectedly, branching into two equally dubious directions. Regis paused, inhaling deeply to sample the air. To the left, wood smoke and the distant bleating of sheep suggested a village. To the right, only the deep silence of the ancient forest.
"The village would be more practical," he mused aloud, feeling how she tensed slightly beside him at the mention of human settlements. "We could resupply, perhaps find news of any patients in need of care." He glanced at Nora, noting how she'd drawn closer to his side, her tail curled tight around her ankle in that characteristic gesture of anxiety. She studied the ground intently, one hoof tracing patterns in the fallen leaves.
"The forest is... that is, if you wouldn't mind..." Her voice trailed off, barely above a whisper. Regis watched how she seemed to shrink into herself, as if expecting rejection of her unspoken request.
"You prefer the quieter path?" he suggested gently, noting how her tail unwound slightly at his understanding.
She nodded quickly, still not quite meeting his eyes. "It's selfish of me, I know. You probably need supplies, and there might be people who need your help..." A blush crept across her cheeks. "But after this morning, I just... I'd rather..."
"Avoid another Martha?" Regis finished for her, his voice soft with sympathy. He observed how her shoulders relaxed slightly at not having to voice the fear herself.
"Yes," she whispered, then immediately looked guilty. "Though that's terribly ungrateful of me, isn't it? She did give us breakfast, even if..." She twisted her hands in her skirts. "Even if she thought I was a demon."
"My dear," Regis said carefully, watching how her tail swayed at the endearment, "cold porridge and prejudice hardly constitute hospitality worth defending."
A tiny laugh escaped her, quickly stifled behind her hand. Her tail brushed against his leg with the lightest of touches. "You shouldn't tease," she murmured, though he noted how her eyes held a warmth that belied her words. "It's... distracting."
"Distracting?" He raised an eyebrow, fascinated by how her blush deepened. "From what, precisely?"
"From..." She gestured vaguely at the forest path, then dropped her gaze again. "From being properly worried about things. Like we should be."
"Ah." He nodded seriously, though he couldn't quite suppress his amusement at her logic. "And I suppose my performing my husbandly duty of lifting your spirits is terribly inconvenient to your plans of fretting?"
Her tail curled so tight it resembled a spring, and she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. "You're doing it again," she whispered, but he caught the smile she was trying to hide.
"Doing what? Being a considerate husband?"
She made a small, flustered sound and buried her face completely in her hands. Her tail, however, had begun to unwind, and he felt it tentatively brush against his fingers. The gesture carried such innocent trust that he felt something in his chest constrict.
"You're impossible," came her muffled voice, though he could hear the shy pleasure in it.
"Quite probable," he agreed amiably. "Though I notice you haven't withdrawn your tail."
She peeked at him through her fingers, her blue eyes bright with embarrassment and something warmer. "I..." Her courage seemed to falter, and she looked down again. "That is... you don't mind?"
The vulnerability in her voice tugged at something in his chest. He found himself increasingly drawn to these moments of raw honesty, when her careful walls dropped just enough to reveal the depth of feeling beneath. "Not in the slightest," he said softly and was rewarded with the gentle pressure of her tail curling fully around his hand.
They stood there for a moment in the dappled forest light, her tail warm around his cool fingers, until she finally lowered her hands from her face. Though her cheeks remained pink, her smile held a contentment that made his eternally still heart feel strangely full.
"The forest path then?" he suggested gently.
She nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes though her smile deepened. "If... if you're sure you don't mind?"
"My dear tactical wife," he said with a light teasing lilt to his tone, feeling her tail tighten pleasantly around his fingers at the endearment, "I find I don't mind at all."
They walked in companionable silence down the forest path, the morning light filtering through ancient branches above. Nora's tail remained wrapped gently around Regis's hand, a warm counterpoint to his natural coolness. He found himself oddly conscious of each small movement—how she drew incrementally closer with each step, the way her breathing quickened slightly when their shoulders brushed.
The forest here was old, the kind of ancient wood that seemed to hold secrets in its shadows. Mushrooms clustered at the bases of weathered trunks, and somewhere in the distance, a mourning dove called to its mate. Regis catalogued each detail with the precise attention of a trained medic, though he found his focus repeatedly drawn to the gentle pressure of Nora's tail around his fingers.
She stopped suddenly, causing him to pause mid-stride. Her tail tightened around his fingers, then abruptly withdrew, curling defensively around her ankle instead. The gesture struck him as oddly vulnerable—a retreat born of some internal struggle.
"I shouldn't," she whispered, more to herself than to him. He watched her hands twist in her skirts, a gesture he'd come to recognize as preceding some difficult admission. "My kind... we don't... that is..."
"Shouldn't what?" he prompted gently, when she fell silent.
She looked up at him then, and the conflict in her eyes caught him by surprise. Fear warred with something softer there, something that seemed to startle her as much as it intrigued him.
"Feel this way," she finished in a rush, immediately dropping her gaze again. "Succubi, we... we feed on desire. We don't... we're not supposed to..." Her voice cracked slightly. "But you're different. You make me feel different."
Regis remained carefully still, sensing the delicacy of the moment. "Different how?"
"With humans, it's always..." She gestured vaguely, her cheeks flushing. "I can feel their want. Their need. It's like smoke in the air, cloying and thick. But you..." Her tail uncurled slightly from her ankle, swaying with uncertainty. "You see me. Not what I am, but... me."
"And this troubles you?"
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. He observed how her tail coiled tighter with each conflicted movement. "I've known you barely a week," she whispered. "It shouldn't be possible to... to feel..." Her voice trailed off, but her tail reached tentatively toward him before drawing back sharply, as if she'd caught herself in some impropriety.
"To feel?" he prompted softly, finding himself drawn by her vulnerability.
"Real," she breathed, the word barely audible. "Everything feels so real with you." She immediately pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. "Oh, I'm not making any sense at all. You must think me terribly foolish."
"Never that," he assured her, though he found his own voice rougher than usual as something ancient stirred within him. Carefully, giving her every chance to withdraw, he reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. She trembled at the contact but didn't pull away.
Her tail swayed toward him again, and this time he caught it gently before it could retreat. Her sharp intake of breath at the contact stirred predatory instincts he usually kept carefully contained, but her trust made him all the more determined to be worthy of it.
"I think," she said carefully, each word chosen as if handling something fragile, "that I might be rather fond of you. More than I should be. More than makes any sense." She gave a small, shaky laugh. "A succubus who wants more than desire. How utterly backwards."
"Then we make a fine pair," Regis murmured, watching how her tail swayed at his words. "A vampire who prefers herbs to hemoglobin, and a succubus who seeks connection over conquest."
Her tail wound slowly around his wrist, gaining confidence. "You don't think I'm broken? For wanting something more?"
"My dear," he said softly, reaching up to brush another strand of hair from her face, "I think you're rather remarkable."
When she pressed closer, something ancient and carefully contained stirred within him. The kiss was gentle, hesitant—warm lips against his cool ones—but it awakened instincts he'd spent centuries mastering. His fangs threatened to extend of their own accord, responding to her proximity and the thundering of her pulse against him. He forced them back with iron control, though the effort made his hands tremble where they rested at her waist.
Her scent overwhelmed his heightened senses—herbs and morning dew and something uniquely her that made his carefully maintained control waver. The predator in him recognized her supernatural nature, hungered for it in ways that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with darker appetites he usually kept chained. Her tail wound more tightly around his waist, and he had to fight the urge to pull her closer, to claim her with the possessive nature that lay beneath his civilized veneer.
"Nora," he managed, his voice rougher than usual as he broke the kiss, struggling to maintain his composure. The war between desire and control made his next words emerge strained: "Perhaps we should..."
But she was looking up at him with such trust, such open vulnerability, that the predatory urges retreated slightly. Her tail trembled where it wound around him, and he realized she was fighting her nature too—restraining her succubus magic, choosing to be simply herself despite what instinct demanded.
"I know what you are," she whispered, reaching up to trace his jaw with gentle fingers. "You don't have to hide it. Not from me."
The acceptance in her voice made something in his chest crack open. His hand came up to catch hers, pressing it more firmly against his cheek despite the slight tremor that betrayed his struggle. "My control..." he began, then had to pause as another wave of predatory instinct swept through him.
"I trust you," she said simply.
Those three words nearly undid him. His other hand tightened on her waist, and he knew his eyes had gone fully black—yet she didn't flinch away. Instead, she leaned closer, offering another kiss with the same sweet hesitancy as before. This time, when he kissed her back, it was with the full knowledge of what he was, what they both were—creatures of darkness choosing light, monsters choosing tenderness.
When they parted again, they were both trembling slightly, but for entirely different reasons than before. The forest path stretched ahead of them, winding deeper into ancient woods where shadows and sunlight played among the leaves. Their moment of connection gradually yielded to the practical needs of travel, though something had shifted between them, delicate as dawn and just as transformative.
"We should continue," Regis said softly, noting how Nora's tail remained curled contentedly around his wrist. "Though perhaps..." He held out his hand, an offer rather than a demand. She ducked her head shyly, but her fingers found his without hesitation. Her tail unwound from his wrist only to curl happily around itself as she fell into step beside him. The morning air carried the sharp bite of approaching winter, yet neither seemed to notice the chill—the vampire who felt no cold, and the succubus who had found warmth in the most unexpected of places.
They moved forward together, him leading her gently by the hand.