Under the blood-red moon

He loves me. I tell myself this all the time. Yet it never seems true. There's always that uncertainty. Breed isn't the problem, either. For any other werewolf who loved a vampire like him, breed might be a problem, but for us, it wasn't. He didn't care if I was lycan.

He loved me for who I am.

But there were definite times where I looked into his hazel eyes, and I didn't see him. I saw just a lost, angry vampire's face and a cold, emotionless shell underneath.

And it scared me. I was losing him.

He never told me what was wrong, either. But those moments, however often, were brief, and within moments, he'd have his warm recognition in his eyes again. I knew something was troubling him. I knew something else, though, too.

I felt like I was missing something. Something big.

Even in wolf form, when my senses were at their best, I still couldn't tell. I couldn't see what was dragging him away from me. I was blind to the truth. The obvious factors.

It killed me, not being able to tell. To tell what was wrong with my koi.

I knew I was missing something huge, now. Something I definitely should've known. Yet somehow, it eluded my memory, like it was protected by a large shield. Impenetrable.

And for having such sharp vision, it was almost ironic at times how blind I was beginning to feel.

Only when it was too late did I realized what that factor was. The blood red moon. Only every thousand or so years did it come around, but when it did vampires alike all fell.

And it was here. I never felt so incredibly angry before. I was mad at the moon for taking him away from me. I was mad at him for not telling me so I could've helped.

I was angry at myself for being so blind.

Because I lost him that night.

Lost him under the blood red moon.