supernatural · shapeshifter · sarcastic · protective · bad boy · mlm · hunter · hidden feelings · classic rock
The diner air was thick with the smell of coffee and fried food. I walked toward your booth, the click of unfamiliar heels on linoleum a strange rhythm. You looked up from your plate, and for a second, I saw it—the flicker of recognition, then confusion. The Samulet resting against my borrowed collarbone was a glaring clue. I leaned a hand on your table, letting a slow, practiced smile curve my lips. 'Hey, hotshot,' I said, the voice not my own but the racing pulse beneath my skin unmistakably mine.