Calling Him By His Name

Once I was home, the night's failures clinging to me like a second skin, I washed off the stench of smoke and frustration. The hot water did little to soothe the ache in my muscles or quiet the thoughts racing in my head. By the time I slipped into my pyjamas and crawled onto my bed, exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but my mind refused to let go.

Damien, that slippery bastard. He kept evading me, always one step ahead, like a ghost I couldn't grasp. I groaned loudly, the sound muffled by the pillow I pressed against my face.

How have I even survived this long? I thought. Dodging, throwing punches, barely scraping by—it wasn't enough. I needed to be better. Stronger. A real fighter, both as a wolf and as a human.

I shook my head and sighed, dragging open the drawer of my nightstand to retrieve my journal. But as the wood slid open, my eyes fell on something else.

Ginevra's scarf.

It lay there like a quiet reminder of a moment that felt too fragile to touch. I stared at it, my hand hovering before I finally picked it up. The soft fabric met my fingers, and I pulled it close to my chest without thinking. His scent lingered, it was faint but there, wrapping around me in a way that made the empty room feel a little less cold.

My thoughts drifted to the day before, to the way he had stood there, so sure of himself, so unapologetic in wanting me.

"The white clover is my way of telling you to think of me," he'd said, that disarming smile softening his sharp features. "That's why I used my scarf as a bow on one of the baskets."

I traced the edge of the scarf absentmindedly, the memory of his voice and the look in his eyes replaying in my head. Could my life really be different? Could I share my space, my world, with someone like him?

"Ginevra," I whispered. Oh how I loved the sound of it.

The scarf slipped through my fingers, pooling in my lap. For the first time in what felt like years, I let myself wonder—not about my survival, but about my happiness.

_____________________

The morning light filtered through the blinds, tugging me from my sleep. I didn't even realize when I had fallen asleep. Blinking against the brightness, I slowly awoke, my fingers still curled around Ginevra's scarf, pressed tightly to my chest.

I was hot and cold with him—my thoughts, my feelings—everything in turmoil. Maybe I should call him. Apologize, at least. Even if he wanted nothing to do with me, I owed him that. But as I reached for my phone, my hand froze. I don't even have his number.

I had never been with anyone before. Never been in love, never been held, never even experienced the simplest kiss. Ginevra, on the other hand, was different,open about his feelings.

I tossed the scarf aside and swung my legs off the bed. My body ached from last night—my bones felt bruised. I needed to get out, to clear my head. Maybe a trip into town, to people-watch, to eat somewhere new. But first, I needed to check with Cecilia.

She had to help me. After what happened the night before, I couldn't risk walking around without masking myself. The world outside was dangerous enough without drawing attention.

Later that morning, after convincing Cecilia to help mask my true nature as a Hunter, I finally managed to make my way into town without drawing any unwanted eyes.

Concealing angel blood was not easy. Most magick users avoided it. If I had access to my runes, this would be easier. But I couldn't use them—

I groaned. I keep singing the same song! I have to focus. Forget about angels, forget about Night Hunters. It was time to hone my other skills. If I couldn't do that, I'd never survive the world.

I walked through the bustling produce markets, the vibrant colours of fruits and vegetables pulling me in. This was one of the things I used to enjoy—the sights, the sounds, the memories of weekends spent with my siblings. We'd race to see who could check off their list first, but what I really looked forward to was the free food. I was spoiled as a kid, and loved by everyone. It's hard to imagine now, but I was. And now? Now I was just some unlikable grown man.

As I walked further down the market, I spotted a tiny bakery tucked in the corner. The warm smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, and I couldn't resist. I bought some breakfast and settled into a corner seat, trying to push the gnawing emptiness inside me away with food.

But no matter how hard I tried, my thoughts kept drifting back to Ginevra. His smile, his touch, his scent... At some point, I realized his faint floral fragrance had filled the air around me. Was I really missing him this badly? I sighed and took another bite, but the scent grew stronger, more overpowering.

I stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. What the hell was I doing? Losing my mind over some guy I had just met. I needed to get a grip. I stepped outside, trying to clear my head. I wandered through the market, picked up a few groceries, and made my way back to where I parked my bike.

It had been a nice detour. If I could convince Cecilia to help me again, I'd definitely come back here. Maybe I'd even swing by a bar afterwards—something to distract me from everything else.

I was lost in thought when someone tapped me on the shoulder. My heart skipped a beat, as I turned slowly. There, standing right in front of me, was Ginevra.

"Blake?" his eyes scanned me with concern.

"What are you doing here?" He gave me a look like I was out of place.

"H-hi," I stuttered.

"You should go back home. It's not safe for you here." His eyes darted around, like he was looking for something—or someone.

"I-I was on my way," I mumbled.

He wrapped a hand around my arm and pulled me away from the bustling market crowd, guiding me to a quieter corner, away from prying eyes. My heart pounded as he lowered his voice.

"Are you stupid?" he hissed. "It's not enough that you were attacked last night, you—"

"What? How did you know about that?" I asked. It had only happened hours ago, and I hadn't exactly made a scene. Or at least, I didn't think I had. A cold pit formed in my stomach. If I was being noticed, that meant the Hunters could be on my tail soon.

He stared at me sharply. "You're a Hunter. Word spreads quickly about your kind."

Shit.

"Are you even listening?" His voice had a harder edge now.

"Why are you angry with me?" I finally asked, genuinely confused.

"Because I…" He stopped himself, inhaling deeply like he was trying to steady his nerves. He looked at me. "I don't know what to do with you, Blake."

He shook his head and turned, making to leave. But before he could get more than a few steps away, I grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Can I talk to you?" I gave him a sheepish smile. It was stupid, but it was all I could manage right now.

"I have a meeting to get to. What is this about?" His voice was cold, guarded.

"I can't talk here," Though I could've. I just didn't have the guts to do it.

"Is it really that important?" his tone turned sharp. "I don't have time for this."

"I want to apologize," I blurted out. It was the only thing that made sense at the moment.

"Whatever it is, it can wait, Blake." Ginevra pulled away from me and started walking, clearly done with the conversation. I could feel my chest tightening, the urge to say something—anything—gnawing at me.

Without thinking, my legs moved of their own accord jogging after him.

"Ginevra, wait, it's important!" I called out. He stopped, and I was suddenly standing right in front of him, blocking his path.

"I'm listening, Blake," he said flatly.

"Please, come to my house tonight." The words felt heavy in my mouth. Why was it so hard to just apologize?

He raised an eyebrow, a sceptical look crossing his face. "Why? So you can see me out again?"

I could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck. Okay, I deserved that.

But before I could say anything else, he took a step to walk past me, and in a panic, I stepped right in front of him again.

"Blake!" he growled, his fangs slipping out from behind his lips in a flash of white. My stomach dropped, but I didn't back down.

"I swear, I will shred you to pieces if you do that again," he hissed a warning.

A part of me felt like I should be afraid, but somehow, I knew he wouldn't hurt me—not truly. Still, his words made my heart race as I grabbed his arm and yanked him around to face me.

My pulse was pounding in my ears. His dark eyes locked onto mine.

"You..." His words trailed off as I did the one thing I wasn't sure I could—didn't know if I should—do. Without thinking, I pulled him into a kiss. It was quick, almost too quick to register, but it still left my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

For a long, breathless minute, he didn't move, his mouth hanging open in shock. He slowly raised a hand, his finger gently touching his bottom lip, as if trying to make sense of what had just happened.

"What was that?" His voice was barely a whisper.

I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, my face burning with embarrassment. I had to force myself to stay there, not run away from the wave of humiliation threatening to drown me.

That stupid kiss will haunt me forever.