Kai had spent his life running.

  From vampire purists who saw his werewolf blood as contamination. From werewolf packs who called his vampire heritage an abomination. From humans who feared anything beyond their understanding. Twenty-three years of never belonging anywhere, to anyone.

  Now, he y on a stranger's couch, watching a vampire and werewolf move around each other with the careful familiarity of people who'd created an unexpected rhythm together.

  "You need blood," the werewolf—Noah—was saying, concern etched on his face as he hovered near the vampire. "I've got some stored in the back of the fridge."

  "I'm fine," Elias replied, though his pallor suggested otherwise.

  "You're not." Noah's tone brooked no argument. "You've been drugged, restrained with silver, and had blood forcibly taken. You need to replenish."

  The werewolf disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a medical blood bag. Kai watched, fascinated, as Elias accepted it with a nod of thanks. There was something in that exchange—care, concern, perhaps even tenderness—that seemed impossible between natural enemies.

  "And you," Noah turned to Kai, "need food, water, and rest. When was the st time you ate?"

  Kai blinked, trying to remember. "Three days? Maybe four. They weren't exactly hospitable."

  Noah's jaw tightened with anger. "I'll make something. Protein, carbs—your body needs fuel to heal."

  As Noah moved to the kitchen, Elias settled into an armchair opposite Kai, regarding him with ancient eyes that seemed to see too much.

  "How long were you held there?" the vampire asked quietly.

  "Two weeks, I think. Lost track of time." Kai shifted, wincing as his broken ribs protested. "They grabbed me outside Phoenix. I've been moving cross-country, trying to stay ahead of the hunters."

  "Westfield's team?"

  "And others. Word got out about hybrids. Made us targets for everyone with an agenda." Kai studied the apartment, noting the subtle signs of two very different inhabitants coexisting. Books were organized with military precision beside carelessly stacked magazines. A meticulously clean kitchen counter with a single forgotten coffee mug. "How long have you two been together?"

  Elias's eyebrow rose fractionally. "Together?"

  "Living together," Kai crified, though he suspected there was more to their retionship than either acknowledged. His dual nature made him sensitive to the undercurrents between them.

  "Approximately one month," Elias said. "A Council housing mandate due to the crisis. Temporary arrangement."

  Kai nodded, hearing the hesitation when Elias said "temporary." Interesting.

  "You're the first hybrid I've encountered," Elias continued. "I was aware such combinations were theoretically possible, but..."

  "But most don't survive childhood," Kai finished. "Vampire and werewolf physiologies are fundamentally at odds. Most hybrids die young from autoimmune complications." He gestured to himself. "Lucky me, I got the compatible genes."

  "Your parents?"

  Kai tensed. Family was a wound that never healed. "Vampire father. Werewolf mother. Both dead."

  "I'm sorry." The simple sincerity in Elias's voice was unexpected.

  "Ancient story. Forbidden romance. Star-crossed lovers. All very dramatic." Kai tried for flippancy, but the pain seeped through. "They thought love would conquer all. Turns out, prejudice is stronger than fairytales."

  Noah returned, carrying a pte den with what looked like an entire refrigerator's contents—sandwiches, fruit, cheese, cold chicken.

  "Wasn't sure what you'd like," he expined, setting the pte before Kai. "Hybrid metabolism might need different fuel."

  The simple thoughtfulness of the gesture caught Kai off guard. When was the st time someone had cared about his preferences? His comfort?

  "Thank you," he managed, reaching for a sandwich.

  As he ate, Noah tended to Elias's wounds, cleaning the silver burns with gentle hands. Kai observed the careful dance between them—Elias allowing help despite his obvious discomfort with vulnerability, Noah offering it without making it feel like charity.

  "Westfield will come after all of us," Kai said when he'd eaten enough to think clearly. "You know that, right? Taking me, rescuing the vampire—you've put yourselves on his list."

  "We were already on it," Noah replied grimly. "Elias was investigating Westfield's connection to the housing crisis. And our living arrangement offends his sensibilities."

  "You should leave," Kai warned. "Both of you. I'll go as soon as I can travel. Split up, make it harder for them to track us."

  Elias and Noah exchanged a look—one of those silent communications that spoke of a deeper connection than mere roommates.

  "Running isn't always the answer," Elias said quietly.

  "Says the immortal vampire who can afford to stand his ground." Kai couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

  "No," Elias's gaze was steady. "Says someone who spent a century running before learning that some things are worth fighting for."

  The words hung in the air between them. Worth fighting for. Kai had never had anything that fit that description—nothing but his own survival.

  "We're not going anywhere," Noah decred, conviction in every sylble. "And neither are you, until you're healed."

  "You don't even know me," Kai protested.

  "I know enough," Noah replied simply. "You're being hunted for existing. That's reason enough to help."

  Such uncomplicated morality seemed foreign to Kai, who'd navigated a world of shifting loyalties and uncertain allegiances his entire life.

  "Get some rest," Elias advised, rising with fluid grace despite his injuries. "We can discuss pns tomorrow. The apartment is warded and protected—you're safe for now."

  Safe. Another foreign concept.

  As Elias and Noah retreated to their respective rooms, Kai sank back into the couch, exhaustion finally ciming him. His st conscious thought was wonder at the strange sanctuary he'd found—a vampire and werewolf creating something that defied centuries of enmity.

  And where, if anywhere, a hybrid might fit into that precarious bance.

  Dreams came in jagged fragments. His mother's ughter. His father's gentle hands. The night they died, fmes consuming their isoted cabin while eight-year-old Kai watched from the forest edge where they'd hidden him.

  He woke gasping, disoriented in the unfamiliar darkness.

  "Easy," a voice murmured. "You're safe."

  Noah sat in a nearby chair, his presence solid and reassuring in the gloom. Dawn light filtered through partially closed blinds, painting the room in soft grays.

  "How long was I out?" Kai rasped.

  "About twelve hours. Your body needed it." Noah offered a gss of water. "How's the pain?"

  Kai took a mental inventory. The ribs were still broken but beginning to heal. Lacerations from silver restraints closing. Internal damage from Westfield's "experiments" slowly mending.

  "Manageable," he answered, accepting the water gratefully.

  Noah nodded, studying him with kind eyes that reminded Kai painfully of his mother. "Hybrid healing—faster than human but slower than pure werewolf?"

  "Something like that. I get the worst of both worlds sometimes."

  "And the best," Noah countered. "You survived alone all these years. That takes strength."

  Kai looked away, uncomfortable with the admiration in Noah's voice. "Survival isn't strength. It's just... not dying."

  "Disagree. Surviving when the world wants you gone? That's strength." Noah leaned forward. "But there's more to life than just surviving, Kai."

  "Like what? Finding a vampire-werewolf roommate situation and pying house?" The words came out harsher than intended.

  To his surprise, Noah ughed. "Maybe. Though I wouldn't exactly call living with Elias 'pying house.' More like a supernatural cultural exchange program."

  Despite himself, Kai smiled. There was something infectious about Noah's warmth, his easy acceptance.

  "He's important to you," Kai observed. "The vampire."

  Noah's smile softened into something more complex. "Yeah. He is."

  "How does that work? Vampires and werewolves are literally designed to be enemies."

  "Maybe we're more than our design." Noah shrugged. "Or maybe we just decided centuries of prejudice was exhausting."

  Before Kai could respond, Elias appeared in the doorway, freshly showered and impeccably dressed despite the early hour. The silver burns on his wrists had already faded to pale pink marks—elder vampire healing at work.

  "Council messengers came at dawn," he reported. "Westfield has gone to ground. His political allies are disavowing knowledge of his activities."

  "Convenient," Noah growled.

  "Indeed. Victoria has called an emergency session. All supernatural factions." Elias's gaze shifted to Kai. "They're particurly interested in speaking with you, when you're recovered."

  Kai tensed. "I don't do well with authority."

  "Understandable, given your experiences," Elias acknowledged. "But the Council needs information on hybrid communities. Westfield wasn't just experimenting randomly. He was gathering data systematically."

  "For what purpose?" Noah asked.

  "That's the concerning question." Elias's expression darkened. "I reviewed some of the data while being held. He's developing something—a compound or weapon that targets supernatural genetic markers."

  Kai sat up straighter, arm cutting through his pain. "A bioweapon?"

  "Possibly. Designed to eliminate supernatural beings while leaving humans unaffected." Elias's voice was grave. "Your hybrid DNA would be particurly valuable for such research—understanding how vampire and werewolf genetics interact could help identify universal supernatural markers."

  "He's trying to exterminate us," Noah said ftly.

  "All of us," Elias confirmed. "Which is why the Rose Thorns' alliance with him is particurly puzzling. What could they possibly gain from helping develop a supernatural genocide?"

  "Unless they don't know," Kai suggested. "Extremists are easy to manipute. Promise them power, superiority, tell them what they want to hear..."

  "While using them to gather test subjects," Noah finished, disgust evident.

  "I should leave," Kai said, anxiety building. "I'm putting you both in danger by staying here."

  "You're in no condition to travel," Elias stated firmly.

  "And we're already in danger," Noah added. "Better to face it together than scattered and vulnerable."

  Kai looked between them, these strangers who'd risked everything to rescue him, who now offered protection without demanding anything in return. It went against every survival instinct he'd honed over years of solitary existence.

  "Why help me?" he asked finally. "You don't know me. I'm nothing to you."

  Something passed between Elias and Noah—another of those silent communications that spoke of deep connection.

  "Because it's right," Noah said simply.

  "Because no one should face such threats alone," Elias added quietly.

  Kai wanted to argue, to reject their help, to retreat behind the walls he'd built over a lifetime of rejection. But exhaustion and pain weakened his defenses. And something deeper—a longing for connection he'd denied for so long—made him hesitate.

  "One week," he conceded finally. "Until I'm stronger. Then I'll go."

  Relief flickered across Noah's face. "Deal. Now, breakfast? I make killer pancakes."

  "A skill he insists on demonstrating at every opportunity," Elias remarked dryly, but there was fondness in his voice.

  As Noah disappeared into the kitchen, Elias lingered, his ancient eyes studying Kai with unsettling perception.

  "It's difficult, isn't it?" the vampire said softly. "Accepting help when you've convinced yourself you need no one."

  The observation cut too close to Kai's core. "Survival 101. Depend on yourself alone."

  "I lived by that philosophy for over a century." Elias gazed toward the kitchen, where Noah could be heard humming tunelessly. "It's... safe. Predictable. But ultimately hollow."

  "Speaking from experience?" Kai challenged.

  "Extensive experience." Elias's smile held centuries of mencholy. "Life—even an undead one—is more meaningful with connections."

  "Connections are vulnerabilities," Kai countered.

  "Yes," Elias agreed simply. "They are."

  The vampire's honesty caught Kai off guard. No ptitudes, no reassurances—just acknowledgment of the risk inherent in caring for others.

  Before either could speak again, Noah called from the kitchen. As Elias moved to assist, Kai watched them—the careful choreography of two beings who had found unexpected harmony despite centuries of programmed enmity.

  For the first time in years, he allowed himself to wonder: what would it be like to belong? Not just to survive, but to connect? To have people who saw his dual nature not as an abomination but as something valuable, something worth protecting?

  The thought was terrifying. And yet, as the sounds of domestic normalcy filtered from the kitchen—Noah's warm ughter, Elias's dry responses—Kai felt something shift inside him. A crack in the armor he'd worn his entire life.

  One week, he reminded himself. Just until he healed.

  Then he would leave, as he always did. Before he could start believing in the dangerous illusion of sanctuary. Before he could begin to hope for something more than solitary survival.

  Before he could admit how desperately he wanted to stay.