The crisp autumn air swept through the city streets, carrying with it the faint scent of fallen leaves and wood smoke. Rogue inhaled deeply, his sharp senses picking up more than the season's charm. Beneath the surface of the mortal world, there was a tang of fear, excitement, and sorrow. Halloween was a night of masks and revelry, of shadows and whispers—and for a shadow demon like him, it was a night ripe for the taking.

He walked with a practiced ease, his dark hair catching the light of the flickering streetlamps. Tonight, he wore the guise of Loki, the infamous trickster god. His sharp features and sly grin lent authenticity to the costume, while the faux golden horns and black leather ensemble only added to the illusion. Yet beneath this playful exterior lay a predator, his red eyes glinting like embers when they caught the light.

Children darted past him in costumes, their laughter ringing through the crisp night. Rogue paid them little mind, his focus on the faint glow of human souls that flickered like candles in his vision. He had already fed twice that evening, but his hunger was insatiable. The thought of taking another—a soul filled with sorrow and longing—set his pulse racing.

His attention was drawn to the steady thrum of bass spilling out from a nearby club. Neon lights bathed the entrance in electric colors, and the line of costumed patrons waiting to get in promised a wealth of potential prey. Rogue smiled to himself and headed inside.

The club was a cacophony of sound and color. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the sharp tang of lust. Rogue weaved through the crowd, his gaze scanning the room for a suitable target. His eyes landed on the DJ booth, where a young man stood, his head bent over his equipment.

Even from a distance, there was something magnetic about him. His platinum-blond hair shimmered under the strobe lights, and his slender frame moved subtly to the beat of the music. Rogue's gaze lingered on him, intrigued by the quiet intensity in his movements. He was different from the others—focused, disciplined, yet undeniably human.

Rogue made his way toward the booth, but his path was abruptly blocked. A hand gripped his shoulder, firm but not aggressive. Rogue turned, his red eyes meeting the sharp silver gaze of a tall, pale figure. The man's close-cropped white hair framed a face that was almost unnervingly beautiful, his features chiseled and otherworldly.

"Leave," the stranger said, his voice low and commanding. "This isn't your hunting ground, demon."

Rogue's smirk faltered for a moment, then returned with a sharp edge. "Fascinating. A fae, out here in the human world. Don't your kind usually stay hidden?"

The fae's grip tightened, his silver eyes narrowing. "And doesn't your kind usually pick easier targets?"

Rogue tilted his head, his smirk deepening. "You don't own this place, fae."

The fae stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl. "I do. And I won't tolerate demons preying on my clientele."

The air between them grew taut with unspoken tension. Rogue could feel the raw power radiating from the fae, his aura shimmering faintly like moonlight on water. It was rare to encounter a fae in the human world, rarer still to meet one bold enough to challenge him.

"I'm just here for the music," Rogue said, feigning innocence. "No harm in that, right?"

The fae's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Keep it that way."

Rogue chuckled, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into the waistband of the fae's jeans. "Consider that my contribution to your little kingdom."

Before the fae could respond, Rogue moved past him, his attention snapping back to the DJ. The young man glanced up as Rogue approached, his blue eyes meeting Rogue's with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"What's your name?" Rogue called over the music, leaning casually against the booth.

The DJ smirked, his fingers deftly adjusting the mixer. "Joachim. You?"

"Michael," Rogue lied smoothly, his gaze tracing the elegant lines of Joachim's face. The faint sheen of sweat on his brow only made him more enticing.

Before Rogue could say more, a shadow loomed beside him. He turned to find himself face-to-face with a towering figure—a man dressed in a sharp black suit that seemed wholly out of place among the costumes.

The man's dark skin gleamed under the lights, his presence as solid and unyielding as a brick wall. "I'm Tom," he said, his voice low and firm. He held up a hand, revealing a silver wedding band. "His husband."

Rogue's smirk vanished. Disappointment flickered across his features, quickly replaced by irritation. "Of course," he muttered. "Figures. Mortals these days don't know how to have fun."

The words barely left his mouth before Tom's fist connected with his jaw. Pain exploded across Rogue's face, white-hot and blinding. He stumbled back, clutching his jaw as rage surged through him.

"You dare—" Rogue snarled, his voice a guttural growl. His red eyes flared, his human guise threatening to slip as his anger boiled over.

Before he could retaliate, a firm hand gripped his arm. The fae was back, his silver eyes blazing with warning. "Enough," he hissed. "You want to expose yourself? To start a war here?"

Rogue glared at him, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. "He hit me," he spat.

"And you deserved it," the fae shot back, his voice icy. "Now come with me before you make this worse."

Despite his rage, Rogue allowed the fae to guide him toward a back office. Once inside, Wynter—Rogue had heard the bartender call him that—released him and crossed his arms, leaning against the door.

"You've got a temper," Wynter said, his tone unreadable.

"And you've got a death wish," Rogue snapped, his jaw throbbing where Tom's punch had landed, the silver of wedding ring leaving a hot print across his jawline.

Wynter's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "You'll heal. Demons always do."

Rogue sank into a chair, his anger simmering as he pressed his fingers to the tender spot on his jaw. "You let him get away with that."

"I prevented you from doing something stupid," Wynter countered. "You should be thanking me."

The tension between them shifted again, this time charged with something deeper. Wynter's silver eyes lingered on Rogue, his expression unreadable.

"Why do you care?" Rogue asked, his voice quieter now.

Wynter didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. The air grew heavier, the space between them charged with an electric pull.

Rogue felt his anger ebb, replaced by a different kind of heat. His gaze traveled over Wynter's face, taking in the sharp angles and the faint glow of his skin. The fae was beautiful in a way that was almost painful.

"I don't know," Wynter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rogue's lips curved into a small, almost tentative smile. "Maybe we can figure it out."

"You're trouble," Wynter murmured, stepping closer.

Rogue tilted his head, his smirk widening. "And you're curious."

Wynter didn't deny it. Instead, he closed the distance between them in one swift motion, his lips capturing Rogue's in a kiss that was as demanding as it was desperate. Rogue responded instantly, his hands tangling in Wynter's hair as their bodies pressed together.

The kiss deepened, tongues clashing as the intensity between them spiraled. Wynter's hands slid beneath Rogue's shirt, his touch firm and exploring. Rogue groaned, his nails raking lightly down Wynter's back.

Clothes were discarded hastily, the fabric pooling around their feet as they moved toward the desk. Rogue's breath hitched as Wynter's mouth traveled down his neck, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake. The fae's touch was electrifying, his dominance unmistakable as he guided Rogue onto the desk.

Rogue arched beneath him, his body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as Wynter claimed him with an intensity that bordered on primal. Their movements were synchronized, the rhythm building into a crescendo that left them both gasping and trembling.

When it was over, they lay tangled together, their breathing heavy in the quiet room.

Rogue's lips curved into a lazy smile as he traced a finger along Wynter's jaw. "Well, that was unexpected."

Wynter chuckled, his silver eyes glinting with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. "You're full of surprises, demon."

"So are you," Rogue replied, his tone softening. For the first time in centuries, he felt something stir within him—a flicker of connection that went beyond hunger.

It wouldn't last. It couldn't. But for tonight, it was enough.