Newtmas & Dylmas One-Shots

Soulmate (Dylmas #15)

His hair was a tangled mess of blonde and brown, the rain having matted it down and made it stick to his face. He was skinny, but Dylan could tell by the way the boys shirt was glued to his skin, that he was muscular. He subconsciously bit his lip at the visible lines of the blondes chest and stomach. The boys face was structured in a way that reminded Dylan of a flawlessly photoshopped model, but he wasn't. The blonde was there, and he was beautiful.

Dylan barely managed to register the boys wide, bright and yellow eyes, or the fact that claws had replaced the boys fingernails, or the fact that he smelt really, really bad. But once he did, he seemed to snap out of his trance, and he was now chasing the unknown stranger through the woods. Rain still poured down on both of them as they ran, and Dylan was glad that he'd worn shoes that didn't slip easily on surfaces.

Now, contrary to popular belief, vampires weren't actually that much faster than humans. It was stated to be so in a lot of story books, but they were only a bit quicker. And compared to a werewolf, they were as slow as anyone else. Werewolves had the advantage of running on all fours, something that the boy didn't seem to do despite having the ability to. Dylan knew that if he didn't aim and shoot soon, he may never get the other. And he couldn't afford to lose yet another supernatural.

He aimed as he ran, his eyes never leaving his target as he drew back the string, letting go when he thought he'd hit right. And he would've hit the boy, had the blonde not caught the arrow between his bare and bony fingers. They both stopped, and Dylan stood in shock and awe at the fact that the stranger had managed to catch the arrow flying at such high speed.

Just then, the blonde turned around, smirking, shaking his head as he chuckled gleefully. He played with the tip of the arrow with his fingers, and for a few seconds Dylan thought that maybe he should be the one running for his life now. But his feet seemed to be frozen to the red and orange leaves beneath him, and he couldn't go anywhere.

He watched in horror and amazement as the unknown werewolf took the arrow, studying it with his glowing eyes before letting the tip drag itself right beneath his visible collarbone. Dylan could see the boy press down harder, and slowly a crimson line formed across his pale skin, making it stand out more than it normally would've.

And suddenly, Dylan found himself not breathing. The sweetness of the open wound made his knees buckle, and his whole body shook at the sensation of the scent that hung through the air. He gasped, the bad smell of the werewolf having completely faded as it was replaced with something so sweet and addicting, Dylan thought he could fall over and faint. He knew that he craved the blood from the other, and he was shaking so much by then that his weapon fell out of his grasp, hitting the ground softly beneath him.

He couldn't exactly tell, but something told him that his eyes had changed to red, and his fangs had appeared. The strangers smirk only grew as he inched closer, and Dylan wanted to whine at the strong scent nearing him.

"Would you like some blood?" He almost swooned when he caught a hold of the British accent, and he tried his hardest to resist the temptation to rush over and bite down on his neck, wrists, or anywhere at that point.

"I can share a little." The blonde said, and Dylan was quick to shake his head. But all he could seem to focus on was how an extremely attractive brit was offering him the most amazing scent of blood he'd ever come across. Dylan didn't think it could get much better than that.

"I'm not having any." He stated, and the blonde shrugged with a small look of disappointment on his face.

"A shame. Now why's a vampire out hunting anyway?" The stranger asked, still holding onto the arrow that had been shot at him minutes before.