"Hey—wait! Stop… what are you doing?" William's voice cracked as he stumbled a step backward. His heel caught on the leg of a chair, and he nearly lost his balance.

Milagros kept advancing — slow, deliberate, silent, like a predator closing in on trapped prey. Her movements had an odd grace to them, fluid and dreamlike. The smile playing on her lips wasn't cruel, but it wasn't kind either. Something wild flickered behind her eyes — untamed, ancient.

The air grew thick, saturated with her scent — cool and sharp, like frost over crushed herbs. His pulse hammered in his chest; his thoughts tangled. Her skin glimmered faintly, damp with a fine sheen of sweat, as though lit from within. The faint glow drew his eyes despite himself.

"Milagros…" he breathed. "You're acting strange. What's going on with you?"

"Maybe," she whispered, voice low and velvety, "we should just… stop fighting it." She took another step closer. There was mischief in her tone, but beneath it — weariness, some fracture of control.

She reached for him. When their fingers met, her touch was ice. The chill stung — not painfully, but in a way that made his body respond with heat, his heartbeat thrumming faster. For a brief, suspended moment, fear and desire twisted into one.

"Damn it…" he muttered, pulling his hand back sharply. "Stop. Before we do something we'll regret."

The room seemed to shrink around them. The air was heavier now, charged. She towered a little over him where he stood — that difference suddenly mattered, flipped something in the balance between them.

"Why?" Milagros asked quietly, tilting her head. "Do I disgust you?"

Light slid across her face, catching her features — sharp, elegant, almost too flawless to be human. Too beautiful. Beautiful enough to be unsettling.

"No," William said at last, voice low. "You're… beautiful. That's part of the problem. I just don't want this to be because of something unnatural — moon phases, pheromones, whatever it is. I want it to be real. If it ever happens."

She didn't answer — just studied him, eyes unreadable. Then, wordlessly, she reached up, caught his chin, and turned his face toward her. The smile fell away. Her mouth began to shift — the corners tightening, teeth lengthening until they gleamed white and pointed. A shiver ran down his spine.

"How about now?" she whispered. "Still think I'm beautiful?"

He could have stepped back. He didn't.

"Yes," he said, barely above a whisper. "Even more than before. I don't know why… but yes. You are."

Color rose in his face. He couldn't believe himself, saying it aloud.

Milagros gave a soft, incredulous laugh; her lips smoothed, the fangs melting away.

"So," she said, half amused, "a taste for the exotic, is that it?"

"Don't call me that," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… don't feel repulsed. That's all. Though maybe I should." He exhaled. "Let's change the subject, okay?"

Her brow lifted. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Pretty sure."

She sighed and stepped back, reclaiming her place at the table. The tension eased as she poured tea into two delicate cups. Steam curled between them, silver and warm.

"All right, mister self-control," she said with a lazy smile, passing him a cup. "Keep your virtue, if that's what you want."

"Thanks," he replied dryly and took a sip. The tea was too hot. He ignored the burn.

A quiet moment stretched between them.

"By the way," he said after a while, "I thought you were planning to reunite with Edward. So why… all this?"

Something flickered across her face — a shadow, faint but unmistakable.

"I am," she said softly. "When the time comes. But right now… everything's off balance. My instincts are too loud, my head's a mess. I can't hunt properly. I just need to dull the hunger. For a while."

William set his cup down, his tone tightening.

"So what," he asked, "you'd sleep with anyone, just to quiet it?"

The disgust in his voice wasn't directed at her — but at the idea itself.

"Does it disgust you?" Milagros asked with a mocking squint. One brow arched; her lips curled into a predatory half-smile.

"I don't want to sound like some washed-up preacher," William began, awkwardly looking away. "But… aren't relationships between two beings — people, monsters, whatever we are — supposed to mean something? Something personal?" He spoke slowly, choosing his words as if afraid to shatter the fragile balance hanging between them.

Milagros laughed softly — brief, edged with scorn.

"Oh, please," she said, stepping closer. "You sound like you got lost on your way out of the Victorian era. In that world, chastity was a virtue and passion a sin. Now half of humanity sleeps with whoever happens to be nearby — and that's normal. Keep searching for someone who'll belong only to one person, and you'll die a virgin."

Her words scraped at his pride. His hands clenched into fists. She wasn't wrong — not entirely. He knew how easily people betrayed; his ex had cheated on him without a shred of guilt. Maybe he was clinging to some obsolete morality, a sentimental notion of purity that had no place in the world they lived in. Maybe he should just play by the new rules.

And yet, something in him resisted. Burned quietly beneath the skin, refusing to yield.

"Maybe you're right," William said at last, voice low. "But isn't that what makes us different? The fact that we can recognize our instincts — and choose to go against them?"

He ran a weary hand across his face, trying to wipe away the weakness in his voice.

"Recognize," Milagros echoed mockingly, narrowing her eyes. "William, you're more beast than man. Just like me. We hunt, we kill, we drink blood — we do what we must to survive. If we share a night together like animals, what of it? It's nature, nothing more."

"I don't want to be an animal," he snapped. "If I did, I'd run naked through the streets and mark my damn territory!" He met her gaze, his eyes fierce. "We can at least try to be more than what nature dictates, can't we?"

Milagros was silent for a moment, then sighed softly — almost tiredly.

"More?" she repeated, stepping in close. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You wear clothes, drink tea, debate good and evil." She caught his wrist and turned his hand palm-up. Her claws slid into the light, sharp and glinting like polished steel. "But look at yourself. This isn't a human hand. It's a weapon. You were made to tear flesh, not write essays about virtue."

William tried to pull free, but her grip tightened — cold, unyielding, metal over muscle.

"What if I don't want to?" he asked quietly. "What if I don't want to hurt anyone anymore?"

"You don't want to," Milagros hissed, "but your nature does. And one day, when you're weak and the hunger wins, you'll wake up elbow-deep in someone else's blood. Believe me—I know."

For the first time, her voice trembled slightly, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret.

He looked away.

"But we can still try," he muttered. "Not feed on humans. Find another way. Even predators can be taught restraint."

"Oh, so now you're planning to be a vegetarian among cannibals?" she sneered. "What'll you feed on then—air and hope?"

"There are ways," he said stubbornly, straightening. "Examples. There are creatures that changed their nature. Take pandas, for instance — built like carnivores but living on bamboo."

Milagros stared at him, disbelieving — then burst out laughing. The sound was low, melodic, but slashed with derision.

"Pandas?" she repeated, incredulous. "You're serious? Those clumsy, half-extinct furballs that can barely mate without human assistance? You want to be one of them?" Her eyes glimmered faintly, an icy blue light sparking in their depths. "Congratulations, cat. Your chances of survival just hit zero. But maybe that's what you crave — to suffer, to starve, to feed on illusions instead of blood."

He didn't answer. He just stood there, watching her — feeling two worlds colliding inside his chest.

One, dark and primal, pulsing hot through every vein.

The other, cold and human, clinging to reason and the desperate belief that he could still choose what to be.

"William…" she whispered. "Why do you keep hurting yourself? Why can't you just let go?"

Her voice was soft — warm as fur, dangerous as venom.

He didn't answer. A vein pulsed at his temple; his hands trembled slightly. Something inside him stirred, swelling with every word she spoke.

She's right, a voice rumbled from somewhere deep within — coarse and guttural, like claws scraping against bone. Enough pretending. Let go. Take what you want. Feel it. Stop holding back.

"Shut up," William whispered under his breath. But Milagros thought the words were meant for her.

"Oh, I won't," she said, closing the distance between them. "I see how you fight it — the way you clench your fists, afraid to touch. It's pathetic, William. Nature gave you strength, hunger, desire — and you hide behind words. Behind fear." Her breath brushed his cheek, cool and sweet. "Nietzsche said that to live is to assert the will to power — even over oneself. Even through destruction."

"He also said," William rasped, "that if you stare too long into the abyss… the abyss stares back at you."

Milagros smiled — slow, dangerous.

"Maybe the abyss is you, darling," she whispered. Her fingers traced a cold path down his chest, serpentine and deliberate. "Your fear isn't weakness. It's power — locked up, starving. Let it out."

He recoiled, but the wall stopped him.

Let her in, growled the beast within. You want this. Her skin, her pulse, her breath — all of it is yours. Take her before she takes you.

"Stop it," he hissed to himself through gritted teeth, sweat beading along his brow. "I'm not… a thing. Not just instinct."

"Not a thing?" she echoed, pressing closer still. Her eyes burned — ice and fire tangled in the same glance. "You were made for destruction, for hunger, for flesh. Humans chew over words like good, morality, restraint — but every one of them burns when desire catches flame. Why should you be any different?"

Each word struck him like a hammer.

Because if I give in, he thought, heat coiling through his veins, I stop being me. He takes over — and I disappear.

And what's so terrible about that? the beast snapped. You're afraid of strength. Of truth. Even love is a kind of hunt — the chase, the bite, the surrender. You were born a predator, not a saint. Stop hiding behind guilt.

"Enough!" William spat, his voice low but shaking. "You won't have me. Not you…" He met Milagros's gaze, fire and torment flickering in his eyes. "And not the thing inside me either."

Milagros took a small step back, studying him in silence. Then she sighed, the sound almost tender.

"So I was wrong about you," she said quietly. "You're no lion. Just a man — one afraid of his own truth. And you know what's tragic, William? You won't become human by resisting the beast. You'll only starve it. And a starved beast…" Her eyes glimmered with something close to pity. "…is the one that devours you in the end."

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