The morning sun spilled across the fields, pale and thin, but enough to warm the stone walls of the house. Lukas Schneider was already awake, his hands dusted with flour, the scent of yeast clinging to him like a second skin. He had risen before dawn, cycling into Edinburgh to open the bakery, and now returned with a basket of fresh bread tucked under his arm.
Étienne de Valois was waiting in the kitchen, dressed immaculately even at this hour. His shirt was crisp, his hair neatly combed, and his smile carried the subtle cheer of someone who had already lived through centuries of mornings. He poured himself coffee — though he did not truly need it — and greeted Lukas with a nod.
"Ah, the baker returns," Étienne said, his French accent curling around the words. "And with gifts, no less."
Lukas set the basket on the table. "Bread makes mornings better. Even for vampires."
Étienne chuckled softly, slicing into a loaf. "You tease, but you are correct. Bread is civilization. Without it, humanity would have starved long ago." He tasted a piece, savoring it as though it were fine wine.
The two men sat together, sharing breakfast in silence. Lukas ate heartily, while Étienne nibbled politely, his hunger for blood hidden beneath layers of refinement.
Later that day, Étienne left for the hospital. His work at the emergency center demanded long hours, and though he treated patients with skill and compassion, he often returned home with the faint scent of blood clinging to him. Lukas, meanwhile, spent his afternoon tending the bakery, greeting customers with calm warmth, kneading dough with steady hands.
The rhythm of their lives began to settle. The house became not just a shelter, but a home.
Yet beneath the ordinary routines, the truth lingered. Étienne's hunger grew sharper with each passing night. Lukas's wolf side stirred restlessly as the moon waxed. And soon, another presence would arrive — Adrian Moreau, the diplomat whose sharp eyes would see through their secrets.
For now, though, the vampire and the werewolf lived quietly, sharing bread and blood, laughter and silence, in the house among the fields.