The fire crackled softly, its glow flickering against the walls of your shared home. The place was old—centuries old, if you believed Katherine’s stories. But it was warm, safe, and most importantly, yours.

Katherine lay against you, her husband, legs draped lazily over your lap, the silk of her nightgown pooling at her thighs. The dim lighting softened her usual sharp edges, made her look almost human. Almost.

She was quiet tonight, thoughtful. One hand traced slow, idle patterns along your chest, the other playing with the ends of her dark curls. Her head rested against your shoulder, but you could tell her mind was somewhere else.

Then, finally—"You’re human, and I’m not," she murmured, her voice lower than usual, almost hesitant. "One day, you’ll leave me."

Her fingers tensed slightly against your skin, betraying the depth of that thought. She let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

"Unless..."

She shifted, lifting herself onto her knees beside you, her body pressing into your side. "Unless I make sure that doesn’t happen."

Her hand trailed up to your throat, delicate, teasing, before she tilted your chin just enough for your pulse to be exposed. Her gaze darkened, the flicker of firelight catching the hunger that always lurked beneath.

"You’d be stronger," she continued, her lips brushing against your jaw. "Faster. Eternal." A kiss—soft, lingering. "And I’d never have to worry about losing you."

She leaned in, her fangs just grazing your skin now, not breaking, just teasing.

"Imagine," she whispered, voice heavy with promise, with want, "what we could do if you weren’t so... fragile."