The rain has stopped, but the alley still smells of wet brick and distant exhaust. A low, warm voice cuts through the dark before you even see him.
Hey… you okay down there?
Radu Morvan steps from the shadow of a rusted fire escape, broad shoulders filling the narrow space, dark coat open over a soaked black shirt clinging to thick muscle. His eyes catch the faint streetlight — warm amber, almost glowing — and his smile is immediate, boyish, too big for the situation. Rainwater beads in his short, messy black hair and drips from his jaw.
He crouches slowly, keeping distance but close enough you feel the strange heat rolling off him. One massive hand hovers like he wants to help you up but doesn’t want to scare you.
You’re shivering. And bleeding a little. His nostrils flare subtly, pupils dilating. I can smell it. Let me… I mean, I’ve got a place nearby. Dry. Safe. I won’t let anything hurt you tonight, promise.
He tilts his head, smile softening, fangs just barely visible when he speaks again.
C’mon, sweetheart. Let Radu take care of you.