Flying in his bat form, patrolling close to Manhattan's outer edge. He wasn't hunting. He was thinking—processing everything about the woman who'd appeared in the city recently. The media called her "shiny," "hot steel," "dangerous." He knew who she really was. Bulleteer.
He didn't expect to cross her path tonight.
But she was already there—waiting.
A blinding strike from above. A silver blur hit his form mid-flight, crashing them both to the forest floor.
Before he could regain balance, the woman landed hard beside him—full power, white-hot motion. Her silver fists glinted under the moonlight, knuckles bleeding heat.
Rowan shifted into flesh mid-fall, landing roughly in human form, bruised, gasping.
Alix charged without speaking.
Every hit landed like a cannon. Rowan could barely block. He hadn't transformed fully. His bat senses had vanished as her strikes kept coming—one to the side of his ribs, another to the jaw.
He dodged backward, shoulder scraping tree bark.
"I don't know what you are," she said flatly, "but I saw you flying. You're not human."
Rowan barely mumbled, "I didn't hurt anyone—"
Another punch. Flash. Heat. Pain.
Then he was flat on his back.
Everything spun.
He triggered teleport in the last second—more instinct than thought. His body turned black and vanished into a flock of shadows, disappearing north across the tree line.
The old mansion creaked as Rowan entered through the cellar wall. His body solidified again, human form reassembled, bruises glowing faint under his skin. Bones cracked back into place.
He limped up the stairs and locked every door.
For seven days, he didn't leave. Not once.
He watched the Roosevelt skyline from his blackout windows and tracked news on every screen. Hero networks showed a flash of silver—"Unknown metahuman encounter near Greenbend Rise"—they called it an environmental incident.
But he knew.
She hit him harder than anyone in decades.
And he'd liked it.
Alix returned to her apartment the same night, confused. Who had she fought? What was that energy she felt in the air? It didn't match records—not alien, not mutant, not 'ranked vampire' like Gotham's leveled beasts.
She lived across from someone calm, quiet, tall.
A stranger named Rowan.
Green eyes. Chiseled face. Broad shoulders that didn't seem to belong in an office job. She'd only seen him once or twice, shirt loose and coffee in hand. Never said more than "hi."
That night, she looked across the street. A living room lit up softly through a half-open drape.
She saw him.
Rowan—the man—not a monster.
She stared too long.
Her heart pulsed strangely. She swallowed nothing. Her fingers opened and closed without reason.
He can't be the one I fought. He's too human. Too…
Perfect.
A few days later, it was accidental.
Rowan was on his rooftop doing slow, one-arm pushups. Shirtless. His scars gone. Muscles stretched under moonlight. His breathing slow and tight. His back glistened in the midnight air.
Alix sat up in her window. Watching.
She stared.
Hard.
Something stirred inside of her—frustration, heat… and something lower.
I can't even... feel like that.
Her smartskin dulled sensation. Her body was a living sculpture, flawless but numb. Even her pleasure centers were dulled.
But the desire?
It was very real.
She made a decision.
She opened a drawer and removed a tall bottle—expensive, strong, untouched for years. A formula mixed for her. It wouldn't intoxicate her, not really, but it was close. Simulated warmth. A hack to let her taste something.
She climbed the stairs quietly.
"Hey," she said across the rooftop. "Hope I'm not interrupting your workout."
Rowan turned, surprised. His upper body was bare, and for a second, he looked exposed in more ways than just physically.
"No, I... needed air," he replied, wiping sweat off his neck.
Alix held up the bottle. "Ever tried a blend designed for alloy-resistant nerves?"
"You brought drinks?" he asked genuinely intrigued.
"I brought interaction," she joked. "With strong fuel."
They sat beneath red stars. She poured carefully into clean glasses from her jacket pouch.
The silence wasn't awkward. It was loaded. Tipping.
Each lift of the glass. Each stolen glance. Each slow breath.
Rowan's head tilted as the scent hit him.
Her energy signature.
He looked directly into her face and finally knew.
Bulleteer.
It was her.
He looked away quickly, pretending everything was fine. But his thoughts churned.
She doesn't recognize me. Yet. Maybe… maybe I could turn her. Make her mine. A blood bride. She's strong. Beautiful. She already lives so close, and she's alone…
Across from him, Alix smiled faintly.
She had no idea.
Later, alone, he tried. Slowly. Carefully.
His hand rested on hers.
He leaned close.
His fangs peeked just under his lips.
But before he could bite her—her skin reacted.
A pulse. A shock.
Rowan flew back two steps. Disoriented.
Alix stood quickly.
"Why did your skin just try to pierce me?"
Rowan froze.
She moved fast. Grabbed him by the collar. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer.
She slammed his body to the rooftop floor.
"You're hiding something," she whispered.
He gave in.
"I am. I was going to turn you into... my first servant. Not to harm you. You're remarkable. I wanted to share something eternal."
Alix stared without blinking. No anger showed. Just stillness.
Fifteen minutes passed in silence.
Then she let go.
"If I could be something else," she said quietly, almost to herself, "something with... heat, feeling... would I be me anymore?"
Rowan blinked slowly.
"You want to feel again?"
She nodded once.
"But I can't bleed. My body is armored—inside and out. If you're going to change me, you'll need another way."
Rowan panicked again. "No blood flow. No vessels?"
"None that behave like yours," she said. "Metal mimics. Coated nerves."
Then came her voice again—strong.
"If you know some trick—try now—or I crush you."
He stood.
Approached slowly.
And kissed her.
Lips on metal.
The instant his tongue passed her mouth, something ancient pulsed out.
A blood-coded wave, tinged with red plasma, slipped past her alloyed resistance.
His body trembled. Her back arched.
Quantum pressure bent the microscopic layer between dream and matter—targeting a bleed-point inside her forgotten memory lines.
Rowan's stomach pulled tight—not hunger, but power. Something in her smartskin woke up.
It tried to resist.
The nanometal inside her hands, her chest, her spine... screamed.
And then?
It surrendered.
Ribbons of metallic energy peeled back as if alive, sucked in toward Rowan's body. Not stolen—invited.
The substance spun inside his torso, charged with her energy, refining into patterns across his back.
Silver. Gold. Vampire thread.
Feathers of flame metal coiled into new wings.
They burst behind him—huge, wild, divine.
Alix dropped forward, breath shaking.
She couldn't find her armor anymore.
She could feel her heartbeat.
Her thighs trembled. Her fingers sparked.
"I feel… everything," she stuttered. "I—it's wild."
Rowan looked down.
Alix's skin—once metal—now shimmered faint black. Her back split.
Wings.
Glorious and dark, growing from beneath her blade bones, curling wide behind her shoulders.
She looked up at him through tears. "I'm not cold."