Night Hunter (BL)

For a long moment, I got lost in Ginevra's eyes. But at the same time, I felt fear. Fear of letting him closer, letting him into my life.

"I'm sorry if I..." His voice trailed off. He didn't finish, but his eyes dropped, avoiding mine as he quickly downed the last of his drink. Without another word, he stood up.

"I'll leave," he said, his smile faint and bittersweet. It didn't reach his eyes.

Something inside me snapped. I moved before I even realized what I was doing, my hand instinctively catching his arm. My mind raced. I was acting like I didn't want him here, but deep down, I knew that was far from the truth. I wanted him here. I needed him here. I just couldn't seem to tell him that in the right way.

"Can you tell me what the flowers mean?" The words slipped out before I could second-guess them. I cursed myself internally for not phrasing it better, for not just saying "Stay," or "I don't want you to go." But no, I asked about the flowers like some fool.

I glanced at him, waiting for the usual teasing or a sarcastic comment about how hot and cold I was being, but instead, he just looked relieved. His lips curved into a warm smile.

He sat back down slowly, and I let go of his arm, my fingers tingling from the contact, unwilling to acknowledge how much I'd wanted to hold onto him.

"Are you familiar with flowers?" he asked softly.

I nodded and took a seat beside him, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way my hands fidgeted in my lap. "I know about flowers, but I don't know their meanings or anything like that. I just know how to grow them." I paused, letting a little awkward laugh slip from my lips. And apparently, obsessively take care of the ones you sent to me. But I didn't say the last bit aloud.

Ginevra nodded and seemed to relax, his posture shifting as he leaned in and spoke. "I sent you three kinds. Red tulips, white clover, and peonies," he said, looking at me to see if I was following along. His eyes softened when he saw the intensity in my own eyes, and he continued. "The red tulips are a declaration of my... my..." He faltered for a moment.

A faint pink blush tinged his cheeks. "Let's leave that one for now," he said, looking slightly flustered.

"Okay, what about the white clover and the peonies?" I pressed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then quickly closed it again, a nervous chuckle escaping him. "I realize that I may have been a little forward," he said, trying to mask the embarrassment that had crept into his expression.

"Fine, if you can't tell me, I'll look it up on the internet," I pouted, only half-serious.

"No, I'll tell you myself," he said quickly. "Don't want the internet saying it for me."

"Okay, I'm listening," I smiled as I leaned into him. Waiting. 

Ginevra placed his hands on the counter next to mine, so close that I could feel the soft, ticklish brush of the little hairs on his skin against mine. My heart skipped a beat at the closeness.

"The white clover," he began, his voice slightly hushed, "is my way of telling you to think of me. That's why I used my scarf as a bow on one of the baskets," a faint, shy smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"You want me to think of you?" I asked, the words almost escaping in a whisper, and he nodded.

"The peonies," he continued, "were to wish you happiness and healing."

"Healing?" there was confusion in my voice. "I'm not ill," I frowned slightly, and Ginevra's expression softened as if he understood the confusion in my eyes.

"Many times," he said, "we don't see the internal wounds we carry, the scars that don't show on the surface." As he spoke, one of his hands hovered over my chest, tracing invisible lines that seemed to send shivers down my spine. I felt a strange kind of release, like something inside of me had loosened, and when he finally pulled his hand back to the table, I felt a kind of calmness that I hadn't felt in a long time.

"So, in short," he said, with a small, almost hesitant smile, "I feel like—like we're meant to be."

The wolf inside me was purring like a little kitten. Drowning in Ginevra's charm, pushing me to lean closer. 

I chuckled lowly more to bury that feeling, "That's so corny. Last time I heard that one, I was..." but he cut me off before I could finish.

"Blake, I'm being serious. I know you felt it too. It would be easier to explain if you had... well, any knowledge about yourself."

I stared at him, my mind racing. "Ginevra, I..."

"Remember when you got angry with me and accused me of compelling you?" His voice was soft.

I had been defensive, masking my confusion with anger. But admitting to myself that I had feelings for a vampire? That was a whole other matter. How could I ever accept it? Me, a werewolf, and a half-angel—how could this even work? My thoughts spiralled into a dark whirlwind of reasons why this could never happen, I went into self-sabotage mode. There were too many risks, too many complications. I was always on the run—how could Ginevra ever live with that? I wasn't even sure what I wanted.

"Blake?" His voice broke through my thoughts, and I felt the warmth of his hand reaching for mine. Without thinking, he intertwined our fingers.

My heart skipped a beat at the simple touch. I didn't understand my feelings, couldn't even wrap my head around them, but I knew one thing—I wanted him. I wanted all of him—body, mind, and soul. But this wasn't right.

I pulled my hand away, the space between us suddenly feeling suffocating. "I'm an abomination, Ginevra, an outcast." My voice cracked. "You can't be with someone like me. There's no peace here." I pointed to my heart.

A wave of sadness rushed through me, my chest tightening painfully. He would be in danger if he stayed with someone like me. And deep down, the vows I made as a Night Hunter were still a chain around my heart. Night Hunters didn't get involved with anything from the dark, especially not vampires.

"Blake," Ginevra's voice was almost a whisper. "Look at me."

I shook my head, swallowing hard, trying to suppress the lump in my throat. "Please... leave." My voice trembled as I forced the words out, terrified that if I didn't push him away now, I might lose control and shatter into pieces.

"I want to get to know you," Ginevra said, his voice almost pleading. "I want you for you, Blake. I don't care about what you are. Tell me this feeling is one-sided, and I'll leave. I won't bother you again."

I stood up, turning my back on him. The words stung, but I had to stay strong. "I'll see you out."

"Is it about my scent?" His voice dropped slightly. "You can't smell me because I used magic to mask it. So nobody can follow me here."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself into silence. The more I spoke, the more my resolve seemed to crumble.

Ginevra followed behind me. When we reached the door, before I could even reach the handle, his arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me close. I froze, feeling his breath against my neck.

"It would be easier to let go if you just told me you don't want me," he whispered.

The words stabbed me, but the truth was undeniable—I couldn't lie to myself. It would be a lie to tell him I didn't want him. I wanted him, and that terrified me. But I couldn't give him what he needed.

I let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, Ginevra. I can't give you what you want."

His body stiffened behind me, and the warmth of his embrace disappeared as he let me go. 

"Alright," he said, the word almost hollow. Without another glance, he turned and walked past me, heading toward his car.

I stood there, frozen in the doorway, watching him go. A wave of inexplicable hurt hit me all at once. Why did it hurt so much? It was just rejection, wasn't it? He'll be fine, I'll be fine... eventually.

I shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. The ache in my chest was unfamiliar. It wasn't just the hurt of being alone again.