AN:
Okay, I'd just like to say that this one is super, super self indulgent and might not exactly be everyone's cup of tea.

There's a bit of violence in this, and if you don't like blood then I suggest you skip this update. It's nothing super graphic, it's just some average supernatural bullshittery but just an FYI for you guys.

Also, a little heads up that it gets kinda frisky towards the end. No smut though.

Nico is hungry.

Starving, actually; not in the right state of mind to even figure out exactly how long it had been since his last meal, only that it's been too long. So long that it feels as though his chest had been hollowed out with a butcher's knife and there are ants crawling under his skin and swimming through his venomous veins.

If he weren't so delirious, he'd be able to able to fully comprehend the dangers of being famished for so long; he'd be able to go about the streets in search for a oblivious, half-willing donor; accept the invitation back to their place before he feeds from their necks in a way mortals only read as a little frisky. Nico's stealthy, so he always laps away the wound before anyone notices, and once full, he generously repays them with a sly grin, bedroom eyes and a couple hours of his time.

However now the urge to eat is animal, nothing but a sheer drive to consume. It's a strange need, since it is not the basic human instinct to merely survive, but a physical, coiling wrench in his gut tugging his strings like a puppeteer.

It hasn't been this bad since he was turned. Alone, waking up in an alleyway, trying to figure out why his skin crawls under the sunlight and why his teeth elongate into those of a predator.

There are no such things as vampires, sweetie a mother had once told her young daughter, who had caught a glimpse of his crimson eyes and the scarlet smear around his lips. Every now and then, Nico comes to think of that girl and how she's doing, whether, several years later, she had brushed it off as childish imaginings or whether it stuck to her, if she blabbered and is now being treated for delusions like most are.

Nico, who's emotional capacity is nothing but an empty vault, feels for those people. They're the right ones, of course. However humankind is merely too blissfully ignorant, stubbornly set on the wonders of science, and brush aside any anomalies and unexplainable miracles as though they're nothing.

In reality – the actual reality – vampires do exist, alongside so many others. So many more species, that either remain hidden in the places that humans consider too extreme to live, or hide in plain sight (like Nico) who blend in as mortals and not mythics.

But right now, his disguise is at risk and if he ends up shifting in this diner under the eyes of several human witnesses, there would be no mistaking this as a simple trick of the light, and by the time it hits the news hunters would already have a stake buried in him.

It takes every inch of his being to get a grip on himself, and second by second it slips through his fingers. There's no way he'd be able to seduce someone in this state, let alone do so without completely selling himself out, and though his thrall is always an option it's a little too far of a stretch against his moral compass – the only one time that he did use it was when he lured a kidnapper away from a courtyard and drained him to his very last drop.

His senses are nulled, his limbs sluggish, and he thinks he may end up hibernating here for a day or ten, but then the door chimes and Nico's renewed with an all new wave of energy when he picks up on that scent...

Wolf.

It's a fight or flight response increased by a tenfold, and whatever adrenaline equivalent chemical roars through his blackened capillaries rejuvenates his strength and coherency in a way that he would almost consider a blessing – even if it's only temporary. His body seems to do this only in the times of immediate danger, as if it could pick up on his surroundings quicker than his mind can comprehend. It's an involuntary reaction, of course, and although helpful it always leaves him severely drained whenever it seeps away.

The man that enters is undoubtedly a handsome being, but ever since he's been forced into this world, looks have never been more deceiving – especially when he's a walking example himself. Naturally tan skin, golden hair, well-built, but most significantly a wolf. Reckless creatures, that shift under the glare of a full moon into beasts fuelled with bloodlust. They won't be so pretty then.

There's apparently a history between werewolves and vampires. Not that Nico has the best of sources and knows many others like himself, but whenever in the presence of a wolf it's different to other mythics. It sets his blood boiling, a singing hatred engraved into his very essence. It's a long story from millennia ago, or so they say, but narrowed down, vampires and werewolves are nothing to each other if not enemies.

Nico sees it in the wolf's eyes, vividly blue but narrowed dangerously. He's just as aware of Nico as Nico is of him.

And then their gazes meet, charged and knowing, while everyone else in the diner remain naïve. It's a good thing they're here though, because if this wolf has a single braincell, he'd know not to risk anything in the presence of mortals.

Still, Nico's eyes remain trained on him because werewolves are almost always driven on instinct and he could never trust one to remain tame. So when the wolf begins to approach him, he knows he'd assumed correctly.

As he slides into the booth opposite Nico, he refuses to let any alarm show on his face. The last thing he needs is to show his intimidation to a species that thrives on inferiors. However he doesn't make any attempt to mask away his loathing, with a sharp glare that would make any lesser being flee in the opposite direction. Over a century's practice would perfect that skill for him.

However the wolf doesn't play the same game, for his eyes soften and his pupils dilate as though he weren't looking at his blood enemy. Nico doesn't back down though, since wolves are manipulative beasts, that have tendencies to play with their food. If anything, his futile attempt of trying to make Nico lower his guard does nothing but make it twice as strong.

"I found you," the wolf says. "It's you."

Sirens ringing in his ears, Nico lifts his jaw ever so slightly in understanding. For a while, he's had a suspicion someone's been on his tail ever since he settled in this gods' forsaken town. He's well aware of territories between the mythics, unwritten boundaries that would only cause trouble to cross. However Nico's sneaky, and his den is tucked in far from the suburbs and so long as he lies low, he'll be fine. After all, he's never caused any excessive havoc with the pack here, never even coming across them until now – he's learnt his lesson from before.

Even now, he means no trouble, but this wolf is clearly trying to snuff it out. At least while here, he's safe from it, but the moment he even takes a single step out those water-stained glass doors he's practically offering an invitation of chase out in the isolated expanse of the forest.

He could wait the wolf out; this diner is open twenty-four hours, seven days a week, and Nico's committed when his mind is set on something. However he's starved, and this boost of energy is eventually going to drain from him and leave him a weak, boneless heap.

So that's why Nico wordlessly chooses to stand and head right out of those water-stained doors. It's a now or later situation, and Nico would much rather take this wolf on while his strength is still with him, and then hopefully have enough left to go and seek a donor.

The sky outside is dark at this early morning hour, the stars tucked under the clouds and light pollution, the moon a waning crescent. The January air is bitter and biting even for him, frost glazing over car windshields and the eroded parking lot. Nico prefers the winter though, shorter daylight hours and less people roaming about. It makes him seem like he belongs, with his dead cold, pale skin, and icy stares, and it's easier to cover up the fact that he never sweats even under the most sweltering of heats.

Distantly, he hears the chime of a bell echo through the parking lot and Nico doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know who it is. Instead he allows himself a deep breath before shifting on his feet, sprinting straight into the fenced off expanse of trees.

Ever since shifting all those many, many years ago, an ever-present pleasure was the heightened sensations of running. While he's significantly much faster than any mortal, it's the feeling that accompanies it rather than just getting from A to B more efficiently. It's the wind whipping his face and his dark hair dancing through the air; it's the whistling of leaves and branches and the overwhelming sense of absolute freedom.

But right now they aren't sensations Nico can focus on as he bounds forward, the crunch of frosty leaves on the forest floor so swift that it blurs into one long sound rather than staccato beats. He has to focus, because he can also hear the wolf bolt after him and for what vampires have in speed, they lack in stamina, whereas werewolves are biologically built for endurance.

When he's sure there's enough distance between them, he hides himself behind a particularly wide tree, stoic still as he leans his back against it, listening intently for the rapidly approaching footsteps. For the first time in a while, Nico's glad for his lack of a heartbeat, since if he did have one, he's certain that it be pounding out his chest and give away his position immediately.

Preparing himself for the fight, he wills his claws to lengthen and his fangs to elongate, running his tongue over the sharp of them.

The heavy footsteps charge closer and closer, Nico shifts into stance and readies himself.

Three.

Two.

One.

Attack.

Nico leaps from behind the trunk and immediately collides with the body mid-stride, tackling him onto the muddy ground with a heavy thud. The ambush had caught the wolf off the guard, but he recovers quickly, snarling as he wrenches away Nico's grip and throws Nico off his body with a brute like strength. The wolf is on his feet fast, but so is Nico and with the new space created between them, Nico stares him down, anticipating his next move.

It's only then that he notices the colour of his eyes. While Nico's are undoubtedly blood red and slit, the wolf's are not that vivid blue but rather a swirling gold.

Fists clenching, he realises that this is no ordinary werewolf. This is an alpha. The pack leader and the strongest of their species.

Nico's no longer sure of his chances of coming out of this unscathed, but he's not going down without a fight. That's for sure.

"Look," the wolf starts, the fog posing him as menacing even if his hands are half-raised, a vain attempt to calm Nico down. "I don't want to fight."

"Save your breath, mutt." Nico spits, not falling for it for even a second.

There's a dangerous flash in his glowing irises at the taunt, Nico catches it and smirks smugly.

Then he charges once more.

Werewolves may he large and strong, but Nico is small and fast, so he manages to swipe his claws into his left shoulder before cleanly dodging the wolf's answering fist. The scratch effortlessly tore against his shirt, four jagged cuts torn into his skin. It's not a fatal wound, but it'll undoubtedly hinder the wolf's movement before it heals over.

"Listen to me!" the wolf exclaims, though it's nothing but white noise to Nico's ears. He stays on the offensive the whole time, while his opponent doesn't even try to get a hit in but rather moves his block all his blows. It's frustrating, because this is just some power play to the wolf, a taunt of his leverage and delusional dominance. It just fuels Nico even more.

Nico's attacks become scrappy with vexation though, and he just about goes to swat at his cheek when a hand clamps as tight as a vice at his wrist, the tips of his claws just about skimming the surface of the wolf's skin.

Immediately he makes to twist out of the grip in any way he can, but the wolf pushes him so he's stumbling on his feet, forcing him backwards until Nico's spine collides hard against the rough bark of a tree and has his wrists pinned above his head unyieldingly.

"Get off me," Nico grits out, trying to kick at his legs but the wolf remains undeterred, squeezing his wrists tighter in warning.

"Stop resisting," the wolf bites. "Just listen to me."

Nico tilts his head up but is then struck by how close his face is. He meets his eyes with a fiery resentment, not letting himself get distracted by the hypnotic molten gold swirling with blue.

Nico bares his fangs and hisses. The werewolf growls in response.

For a few tense seconds, they stare each other down until one relents. Submission isn't in an alpha's nature, but Nico is nothing if not stubborn, so he holds the gaze no matter how electrifying. They pant in tandem, their chests rising and falling from exhaustion before it hits Nico like a truck.

That scent. God, that scent.

It's not just the one that's so distinctively wolf, but something blended in with it. Something sweet and encompassing; something that Nico thinks he would gladly suffocate himself with.

Without any expressed thought, his body relaxes against the hold and his gaze drops, landing on the four gashes prominent against the wolf's shoulder. Blood seeps from it, staining the shirt around it's ripped edges an irresistible crimson.

Nico wants nothing more than a mere taste.

His eyesight goes blotchy with the thought of it, too dazed to even consider how wrong it is to crave a werewolf.

Yet that insatiability is all that fills his mind as the world grows dark and his eyes drift shut.

~*~

Nico doesn't dream.

He barely even sleeps, but he figured it was just another consequence of the bite. Night terrors had always plagued his childhood, falling into phases on sleep paralysis since eleven. Those first few nights after shifting, Nico had half-expected those nightmares to be more vivid and brutal than ever before, but if they're there, they've never bothered him, and Nico never remembers them by morning come.

He used to wake up screaming. Now he wakes his mind blank and head pounding.

"Fuck," he tries to croak but his tongue is too parched, barely managing to open his eyes fully as the artificial light that floods into the room feels as though it's burning off his retinas.

"Gods, you're finally awake," a voice sounds from somewhere, but Nico can barely make anything off it through its haze, as though there's cotton stuffed in ears.

Before he realises it, there's a shadow cast over his eyes that he can sense underneath his shut eyelids. Blinking them open, all he sees is a tanned wrist hovering too close and all too temptingly above Nico's lips. It takes every cell of his being to not just bite, not to give into that screaming impulse, the tantalising scent, or the roar of the blood he can hear so pristinely underneath the skin.

Nico doesn't know it's an invitation before he hears that voice again.

"Drink," he says softly, and Nico is helpless to do otherwise.

Pointed fangs sink into the vein before his mind can even register the action, but the moment the skin breaks and that metallic taste hits his tongue, the effect is instantaneous. He downright moans as he swallows, feeling his strength and coherency return to him with each warm mouthful. There's no doubt that blood tastes good to a vampire, their cravings only curbed with it, but this is different, Nico thinks. This is not good but heavenly, so pure and gods damn addictive.

Too late does he realise how much he drank, regretfully pulling his teeth away and lapping the wound for its final, precious drops. His thirst is quelled, yes, but he's not full, and to be honest he hasn't let himself be full in a very long time. It's for the better though, since being full means usually means to kill, and Nico doesn't do that unless situations call for it.

With his senses returned, Nico can make out the rapidly beating pulse underneath the wrist, hears it pound like timpani. A vampire bite brings pleasure, not just for him but for the donor too, but a simple wrist incision is nothing in comparison to one on the neck, leaving his prey all too dazed and pleased.

But it seems to affect this donor the same, nonetheless. "Is that all?" he breathes, and only then does Nico recognise who he's dealing with here.

Nico sits up abruptly on the unfamiliar coach, situation in a room that is not his. In front of him stands the werewolf, dressed down but still devasting.

The expression on his face is unreadable, since in any other scenario Nico would decipher it as fond and kind, but this is unlike any other scenario he was ever experienced in the entirety of his existence.

Which is probably why he doesn't attack right away. Nico may be untrusting, withdrawn, and defensive, but this wolf just let him feed from him. That's a feat within itself, just simply unheard of.

However that doesn't mean that he is going to be putty in his hands. He musters up half a glare before asking, "What do you want from me?"

"To help you," the wolf replies swiftly, as though it's as much of a fact as the grass is green and the sky is blue. "Are you full? You can drink more if you want to."

Nico doesn't try to hide it from his face, the way he studies him with narrowed eyes and the thoughtful furrow to his brow. If the wolf makes anything bad of it, then let it be, because it's something extremely minor compared to the downright unorthodox behaviour he's displaying.

There's one thing that he knows for certain: there's an ulterior motive to this all. There are no plain acts of kindness in this world, not while Nico was still human and most definitely not now. People don't just help out if they get nothing out of it, even if it's something as mundane as seeking goodness and useful about oneself, because from Nico's experience of humanity and mythics, no one is ever truly selfless.

But he thinks that this wolf's rationale goes beyond a mere Good Samaritan complex. It isn't just about the inward self-pride that comes from making a positive impact on someone's life, no it's something much more than that, he wants something from Nico.

The question is what?

"Why do you want to help me?" he asks eventually.

The wolf just sighs. "Look I'll explain, but right now I just really want to make sure you're satisfied, so please just.... Are you full?"

"I've already drank too much from you," Nico says steadily. "Anymore could kill you."

"It wouldn't, our blood regenerates quickly, for things like accelerated healing." With that, he thrusts out his arm once more and Nico's eyes instantly go heavy lidded at the scent. "Please, take as much as you want. I'll be fine."

He thinks about denying the offer for a split second, but then he comes up with no reason as of why. Sure, maybe there's pride, however Nico has thrown it to the wind more than once for his own asset.

So he pierces the vein once more, still the taste is overwhelming, and he can't help the whimper that escapes his throat.

Nico could drink forever from this single source – would live a more than happy eternity if he could – however he still needs answers, so he pulls away and is sure to lick every drop from his lips. He smirks helplessly, when was the last time he fed until he was actually satisfied?

When he glimpses back to the wolf, a few gears shift in his mind for the blond's mouth is slightly agape and his gaze unfocused.

Did he land himself a junkie? It's not entirely uncommon, but for a werewolf however....

Under the weight of Nico's scrutiny, the wolf comes back to himself, shaking his head in a grasp of focus.

"Sorry," he says to Nico's evident impatience. "It's just you... I didn't know I'd ever find you..."

"What do you mean?" Nico urges frustratedly. "You found me; you could've killed me, but you didn't. Why did you bring me here? What use am I to you?"

"You don't feel it?" he says, as if 'it' could be explained with the wild, nonsensical hand gestures he makes. Upon catching the vacant expression on Nico's face, he growls in vexation. "This thing, this connection? Something drawing you in?"

Nico leans forward subconsciously. Even if curiosity killed the cat, he can't help but be intrigued. "I don't even know who you are."

"My name is Will Solace," Will Solace says, peering at him expectantly.

"Nico," he replies. "Nico di Angelo."

"Nico," the wolf begins, looking him dead in the eyes. "You are my mate."

Whatever crackling tension had been in the air dissipates in less than a second as Nico immediately recoils back against the coach and pushes Will away on instinct.

Whatthefuck

"Ni—".

"Are you out of your mind?!" Nico exclaims, suddenly on his feet with something a lot like fury singing in his blood. "You wolves never fail to— fucking Christ—"

He isn't conscious of the fact that he's stood on the ledge of the only window in sight until a firm hand grasps his forearm. It's not a far fall at all – only seven storeys high – and all he has to do is leap, fully recharged with enough energy to sprint to his den, grab his most precious belongings and flee this gods forsaken town. The alpha may be merciful now, but even Nico's not daring enough to cross the same pack twice.

"Just hear me out!" Will yells, yanking his arm so he stumbles back into the apartment and falls against his chest. From this close, he can make out the omnipresent specks of gold in his eyes threatening to seep into the deep blue, could count each individual, fair-coloured eyelash and the splash of freckles dusted across his cheeks.

Nico bares his fangs in warning, seizing his grip off him and the wolf lets him go easily. "It's out of the question," he hisses because it so very is. Mates are solely a wolf thing, some sort of bullshit partnership just to support their unjust bullshit social hierarchy. Nico's read about them before, how there's meant to be some sort unmistakeable, magnetic pull that brings a pair together, mated for life just because it's written in fate.

He has half the mind to assume that this particularly undaunted werewolf has no idea how this supernatural world of theirs works... but this is an alpha, Nico reminds himself, the most experienced of the lot.

"I know it's you," Will insists. "Your scent, gods... I've been tracking it for months now, and it's you."

"I'm not like you, wolf," Nico sneers.

"No, you're not," his voice significantly softer now, soaked with conviction. "No, no, you're not like me but—"

"I'm a vampire."

"I know, okay, I fucking know—" then the wolf roughly rolls the tension out of his shoulders. "You can't recognise scents as distinctly as I can, but you're telling me that you don't feel anything?"

Oh, Nico feels. Nico, who's burdening emotions are forced behind a scrappy trapdoor, feels alright. Since that trapdoor bursts open and everything comes roaring out like a broken dam. He feels enraged, how it sets him alight. He feels bewilderment, hidden in the crevices of his being. Oh, he feels lust, shoved away in the darkest corner of his mind but still so distinctly there. He feels dubiety and delirium and exhilaration and incredulity and longing and everything.

But around Will Solace, this werewolf, he feels home.

And he resents it.

"Nico—?" the wolf starts but Nico doesn't hear it, not above his rushing blood and pounding heart and his own mind screaming yes.

And none of that chaos tunes out when he roughly shoves the wolf up against the wall and collides their lips together with a fire.

It's not at all what a first kiss should be like, what's supposed to be a sweet and tentative union instead forgotten in favour of hard and unrelenting. It's barely even pleasant, but then there are lips that move against his just as enthusiastically and fingers curling around his waist possessively and pulling him close, and closer but not close enough.

Nico's hands entwine desperately with the collar of a purposeless shirt, but he still uses it as leverage to press into the kiss more forcefully. The way one of his fangs catch on his lips is an accident, but honestly the taste of that sweet blood on his tongue is invigorating. Distantly, he hears a low, guttural sound in what could only be satisfaction, and he has no clue who it came from – nor does he care.

Oil on water, the only rational part of Nico's conscience reminds him, werewolves and vampires don't mix.

Nor does he care about that, either.

Not when the air is hot and sweltering and their kisses messy and addictive. Not even when their lips break apart and Will begins to trail nips and bites across the line of his jaw to the hollow of his throat.

Long fingers weave into golden hair, tugging encouragingly... but he frowns when the wolf pauses in his antics.

Nico doesn't want to stop. Stopping would mean getting his rationality back. Stopping would mean it's time to think things through but Nico doesn't want to think. At least not right now.

He breaths, "Why did you sto— oh."

He can't help the gasp, not when Will noses at his at his Adam's apple and inhales deeply at the crook of his neck.

He's scenting me, Nico's last firing braincell tells him, and he almost wants to remind Will that he's a vampire and he doesn't even have scent glands.

However it doesn't seem to matter for when the blond pulls away and meets Nico's gaze once more with breathy pants on his lips, his pupils are dark and blown as he leans in close.

"You're mine," the werewolf breathes against his ear.

"Yours," Nico replies, even if it just is for one night.

Though he knows he's lying to himself, because if he were being completely honest, he'd be able to admit that he's never felt more complete with the wolf by his side.

So more than just a night, he supposes, but right now, he doesn't need to think about that.

AN:
Anyways, if you did like this, what's your opinion on a part two because ngl with the way things were escalating I was debating adding in a smut scene. Idk how worth it is tho.

Edit:
This is now a separate fic of its own that can be found on my profile :)