It was the night of the first full moon since their bond had been severed and something was wrong.
No. Not wrong.
They fought, but that wasn't unusual. Their bond was based upon their mutual inability to properly kill each other, which is actually far healthier than most relationships.
Before most of her power was stolen, she was stronger and faster than he was. One ancient relic, a brainwashed priest, and a devious rival later and she was left no more powerful than a newly turned vampire.
But, she was far from helpless. The werewolf was stronger and faster, so she had to use weapons and cunning, but the result was the same--their fights still ended in a stalemate. Often a bloody, painful stalemate.
As was often the case with them, the fighting was quickly replaced with carnal pursuits. On this particular evening, it was Lucifera's resolve that broke first, and she sank her fangs into Mickey's neck to greedily sap up his powerful werewolf blood.
She immediately convulsed and spat it out on the ground.
He looked down where she sat. He wanted to ask her what happened, but a growl came out instead. He tried to reach out to help her, but his fingers lengthened into claws. He wanted to feel horrified at what was happening, but he didn't.
Somehow it felt right.
Her word still had some meaning to him. The beast cocked its head to the side. The vampiress seemed familiar to him, but even that was fading.
She picked up her sword and stood slowly.
The monster eyed her curved blade with amusement. It laughed, but an even deeper growl sounded.
"Mickey?" Her voice held little hope that it would even know the word.
She was right.