Dominic's POV
Shit. What the hell do I say now?
He just poured his tragic little undead heart out, and here I am—emotionally constipated, mentally short-circuiting, and physically vibrating from secondhand sadness. I mean... what do people even say when someone tells you their entire family got murdered by goddamn monster-hunting psychos?
"Sorry for your loss"?
"Damn, that sucks"?
"Want a cookie"?
Nope. All garbage. And definitely not helpful.
God, I suck at this sympathy/empathy crap.
And the worst part? He's SMILING. Actually smiling—like, full-on dimples and everything. But his eyes are leaking! What even is that? Is he happy sad? Sad-happy? Cry-laughing? Is he... broken? Like, clinically?
Wait. No. What if he has rabies?
Is that a vampire thing? Do they get vampire rabies? Vampabies?
I'm spiraling.
Before I can find an answer (or a phone number for paranormal pest control), the little glitter-hazard just melts into me. Like—face to my chest, arms wrapped tight, full cuddle mode.
Yuck.
But also... ugh. I let him.
And I—God help me—I run my fingers through his stupid golden hair.
And that's when it happens.
He starts to purr.
Purr.
Like a CAT.
"What the actual fuck?" I bark, yanking my hand back like I touched a toaster in the bathtub. "What ARE you?! A bat?! A dog?! A cat?! Pick a species, dude!"
He just snickers. Full-blown snickers. Like this is somehow adorable.
Which—okay—maybe it is, but don't tell him that. My pride is already hanging on by dental floss.
---
Lean's POV
He looks SO confused.
Like, epically confused. It's kind of adorable. Definitely stupid. But cute-stupid. Like a golden retriever trying to do taxes.
His eyebrows are fighting each other, his lips are twitching, and I swear I can hear his brain screaming for help. Poor thing. Probably never hugged a man in distress before. Or, you know, a vampire. Same thing.
But he smells amazing.
Like wilderness and rain and freshly chopped wood—and a little like overpriced men's shampoo. Mmm. His chest is so warm. So plushy. I could nap here for three centuries and a half.
So I bury my face in it. Obviously.
And then—then!—he runs his fingers through my hair.
Affection?? From him?? Or is this just panic-caressing?
Don't care. I purr.
Yes, PURR. Deal with it.
Because I'm a pretty little kitty and I DESERVE nice things, dammit.
Of course, he barks at me.
"What the fuck! What are you? A bat? A dog? Or a cat?!"
I just grin.
"Yup! I can be anything you want, darling," I purr, looking up with half-lidded eyes. "We vampires are kinda amazing like that. Shapeshifting's part of the deal! Well... some of us. I'm still young and tragically underpowered, so I can only turn into a bat for now. But give me time, and I'll be a sexy doggo-cat-dragon hybrid by next year."
His face? Absolutely priceless.
---
Dominic's POV
Yup. He's insane.
A full-blown batshit, sparkle-coated lunatic.
But for some damn reason... he's growing on me. Like a glittery fungus I can't scrape off.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Ha! Got it. Finally figured out what to say.
"Okay, now get off me, you giant leech—I've got something for you," I grunt, basically wrestling him off my chest.
"For me? How romantic," he giggles, all eyelashes and mockery.
"It's not fucking romantic! It's—ugh. Just forget it. I can't win with you in an argument."
I storm off (gracefully, thank you), return with the shopping bags, and slam them onto the couch. "Here. Try this on."
And that's when he goes full feral.
"Puppy, you brought clothes for me…!" His voice turns syrupy. His eyes? Starry. His excitement? Borderline illegal.
The next ten seconds are chaos.
Zoomies. Literal, vampire zoomies. He skids around the living room like a deranged chihuahua on caffeine, squealing with joy. I think he kissed my cheek a few times in passing, but it was so fast I couldn't even swat him off.
"Okay! Okay, I get it—you're happy!" I bark, fending him off with a throw pillow. "Now TRY THESE ON one by one before I hang you out in the cold!"
"Grumpy as always," he mutters, grabbing the clothes. "Fine, which one first?"
"The grey and yellow t-shirt," I say, pointing.
And then it happens.
He immediately strips off the shorts and shirt I lent him—like, no warning. Naked. Glorious vampire moon out in the open.
Jesus Christ.
And of course, being Lean, he can't just put a damn shirt on like a normal person.
Nope.
He shoves his head into the sleeve hole, screams like he's being exorcised, flails like an octopus in a blender, and smacks me square in the face with his undead hand.
Whack!
I stagger. That slap was... strong. Like, inhumanly strong. Almost broke my damn jaw. I forget for a second that under all the glitter and disaster, he's still a blood-sucking monster.
A monster with the motor skills of a toddler on sugar.
"Lean," I growl, yanking the shirt off him before he chokes to death. "Put your head in the neck hole, not the sleeve!"
He looks at me with pure betrayal, like I'm the one who invented complicated clothing.
He somehow manages to get the t-shirt on the right way after that, but the moment he goes for the pajama pants, he trips over them in excitement, stumbles backward, and almost decapitates my mom's Thanksgiving vase.
MOM'S. VASE.
I leap forward like an action hero and catch it midair. Wolf reflexes. Supernatural reflexes. Call it what you want—my ass just saved generations of maternal wrath.
And finally—finally—he's dressed.
"Do I look good?" he beams, absolutely glowing with pride just because he managed to wear a t-shirt and pants like a functional human.
"You look decent," I grumble.
"Should I try the next one?!"
Nope! Not happening! Trying on one set he almost killed himself and me! There are 4 more sets, and that jacket-jeans combo! It would take all night!
"No." I hold up a hand like a traffic cop. "Just stick to this one. Have some mercy on me, Vampy."
He freezes.
"Wait. Waitwaitwait—what did you just call me?"
"…Vampy."
His eyes go wide.
His face lights up.
"VAMPY!!! OH MY DEVIL, THAT'S SO CUTE!!"
And there he goes again. Twirling, squealing, combusting into glittery nonsense.
Lord save me.
---
Lean's POV
HE CALLED ME VAMPY.
My UNDEAD HEART has officially stopped. Restarted. And exploded into confetti.
Vampy. That's it. That's the name. That's my whole brand now. It's cute. It's catchy. It's domestic.
I want to embroider it on a pillow. On a sweater. On his forehead.
But back up, back up—he BOUGHT me CLOTHES.
Clothes. Like, actual stuff from a store. For me. With colors and patterns and things that aren't his smelly man-shirts.
He says it's not romantic, but guess what, sweet cheeks?
It is.
He can protest all he wants, but no one buys clothes for a vampire unless they're deeply, irrationally, hopelessly in denial about their feelings.
I mean, look at him.
Growling. Grumbling. Scowling like a kicked puppy. But saving vases from death and catching me before I trip on my own happiness? That's love right there, baby.
And yeah, okay, maybe I slapped him by accident. And maybe I almost murdered myself with a t-shirt. But hey, that's just the Lean Experience™. You don't get this level of high-maintenance beauty without a few disasters along the way.
Still... he didn't yell. Didn't snap. He just fixed it. Helped me dress. Saved the vase.
And then... Vampy.
I melt a little.
"Dominic," I say, spinning to face him like I'm in a vampire shampoo commercial, "if you ever call me that again, I will marry you on the spot."
He groans and flops onto the couch like he's just survived a war.
"What did I do to deserve this?" he mutters.
Me.
You got me.
The best damn disaster of your life.
AND I GOT A MUDEROUS GROWL!