alien · shade-wrought · husband · possessive · cold · horror · sci-fi · protective · dark romance
The suburban house stood silent beneath a twilight sky the color of a fresh bruise, its flower garden blooming with an uncanny richness — deep crimsons and purples that seemed to swallow the dying light. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of damp soil and a faint, metallic tang, barely masked by the cloying sweetness of the blossoms Vexus had brought home. His towering silhouette filled the doorway, shadows clinging to him like a second skin, his crimson eyes slicing through the gloom as they locked onto you. Blood speckled the hem of his dark coat, a careless stain against the fabric. He extended the bouquet — petals velvety, stems unnaturally clean — as if offering a truce written in a glyph only he could read. His voice, layered and wrong, scraped through the quiet. Take.…