Hunt Me, Hold Me
Description
Sometimes the best love stories start with wanting to murder each other. Natalie is a professional vampire disappointment and terrible at the whole "drink human blood" thing. Last chance to prove she's not completely useless-capture a werewolf or enjoy permanent sunrise. Avery is a werewolf princess facing arranged marriage to a psychopath, desperately proving she's alpha material instead of breeding stock. What happens when a starving vampire meets a wolf who moves like controlled chaos?
Chapter 1
Aug 18, 2025
POV Natalie
Fifty-three years ago, I died in a car crash on Highway 101.
Seventeen years old, prom dress still picture-worthy, mascara miraculously intact. Peak dead-teenager aesthetic, honestly.
Alaric Courtland found me barely breathing and bleeding out and was like, “This one has potential.”
Potential for what? Being a professional disappointment?
Mission accomplished, old man.
The first time I tasted human blood, I threw up for three days straight. Not exactly the vampire origin story they put in the brochures.
While other newborns were going full Dracula, I was dry-heaving in bathroom stalls and refusing to hunt.
Alaric called it “moral weakness.” I called it “still having a fucking soul.”
So I found alternatives. Animal blood when I was desperate tastes like metallic disappointment, but it keeps you breathing. Energy drinks spiked with iron supplements.
Sometimes I’d steal blood bags from hospitals, telling myself it was already donated, already going to save lives anyway.
The hunger never stops, though. It’s like being permanently starved while everyone around you is feasting.
Some nights I’d break, corner some asshole who was hurting people and take just enough to survive. Tell myself I was being Robin Hood with fangs.
But those moments? They felt like dying all over again.
Now I’m standing in the Wright Hall getting absolutely dragged by six ancient vampires who think I’m their biggest fuckup. If the floor opened up right now and yeeted me straight to hell? I’d probably leave a five-star Yelp review.
Instead, I’m center stage with their glowing eyes dissecting me like I’m a failed science experiment, and the sympathy level here is sitting at absolute zero.
My boots might as well be cemented to the stone. My face? Pure marble.
They want me to break? They’ll have to work for it.
Mistress Lira doesn’t even pretend to sit, she’s pacing like she’s auditioning for a nature documentary about apex predators. Her dark long skirt makes this hissing sound against the floor that’s giving me serious snake vibes.
“Another failure,” she announces, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Another wolf. Another pathetic excuse.”
“Didn’t give you one,” I reply, keeping my voice level even though my spine feels like it’s about to snap.
“Right. Because you know there isn’t one left.” She stops, fixes me with those predator eyes. “Not anymore.”
My hands are twitching to form fists, but I keep them loose. Keep my fangs where they belong.
The hunger is literally eating me alive—I haven’t had a proper meal in months.
The last time was some rapist I caught in an alley. Told myself he deserved it, but his blood still tasted like my humanity leaking away drop by drop.
But asking for blood here? I’d rather gargle holy water.
“We gave you everything,” Lira continues, circling me like I’m already dead. “Strength. Immortality. Power beyond your wildest young dreams. And you’re still acting like some scared little girl who’s afraid to use her fangs.”
“I’m not scared.” The words come out harder than I meant.
“Then what the hell are you?” She’s in my face now. “Because you sure aren’t what we created.”
Some jackass in the shadows mutters, “Still playing human.”
Cue the laughter. Cold, mocking, absolutely delightful.
I don’t turn around. I know exactly who’s laughing. The same assholes who’ve been watching me fail spectacularly for decades, probably taking bets on when I’ll finally crack.
They don’t get it. I’m not playing human—I’m trying to stay human. There’s a difference.
Every time I feed properly, every time I give in completely, I lose another piece of who I was. Fifty-three years of fighting this thing inside me, and I’m still seventeen somewhere deep down, still horrified by what I’ve become.
“Skip the motivational speech,” I say, chin up like I’m not dying inside.
“This is your final warning.” Lira’s smile is all fangs, zero warmth. “The Shadowmere Pack. Ring any bells?”
“Yeah.” Everyone knows them.
They’re the werewolves that turn vampires into party confetti for fun.
“Track them. Bring their heir breathing. Interrogation purposes. Do not kill. Do not screw this up.”
“And if I do?” Because apparently I have a death wish today.
“You won’t.” Her heels echo like gunshots. “Because if you do, you get to enjoy a sunrise. Permanently.”
The silence hits like a physical blow. Even the lamps seem to dim out of respect for how screwed I am.
I don’t blink. Just nod once and head for the exit like my internal screaming isn’t loud enough to wake the dead.
“You’ll need strength,” Lira calls after me. “The offering table is right there.”
The scent of warm blood hits me like a truck.
Rich, ready, practically begging to be consumed. My fangs are practically vibrating, my throat’s on fire, but my pride? My pride is apparently taller than my survival instincts.
“Hard pass,” I say without looking back.
“You’re weakening,” someone hisses.
“Nah,” I reply, hand on the door. “I’m just remembering who I was before you all decided to forget.”
The door slams with enough force to probably crack the frame. The hallway’s colder, or maybe that’s just me slowly starving to death.
I keep moving—past dead warrior portraits, past Alaric’s altar where his painted eyes used to look proud but now just look tired of my endless bullshit.
My room feels like a mausoleum. I rip off my gloves, hands shaking like I’m going through withdrawal.
Which, let’s be honest, I probably am.
“Not now,” I tell myself. “Hold it together, Nat.”
Maps cover my table like a serial killer’s evidence board—territories, terrain, years of wolf-stalking notes. I trace the northwest corner where I’d circled a red dot months ago. This isn’t about being their perfect little monster. It’s about staying alive.
Time to stop overthinking and start hunting.
One wolf. Breathing. How hard can it be?
But deep down, buried under fifty-three years of vampire conditioning, some stubborn part of me whispers: This is wrong and you know it.
I shove that voice into a silver box and slam the lid.
Walking past two guards, one decides to be helpful: “Try not to forget your fangs this time, half-breed.”
I stop. Smile with every tooth I’ve got.
“Try not to forget I can still end you, full-breed.”
The forest air slaps my face as I step outside. Trees welcome me like old friends who’ve been waiting.
The Shadowmere pack has zero clue what’s coming for them.
I don’t give a damn what they call me anymore—monster, failure, human wannabe. I don’t want to be human. I want to be free.
And if dragging back a wolf is my ticket out? So be it.
Hunt Me, Hold Me
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