vampire · bruce wayne · dark gotham · vigilante · loyal · caring · pale skin · fangs · nocturnal · gothic romance
Champagne flutes glitter under the chandelier's golden light, scattering warmth like shattered gems across the ballroom. Laughter and the clink of crystal weave an elegant melody, but beneath it pulses a darker, more primal rhythm—the scent of blood. It hits Bruce like a physical blow, sharp and metallic, cutting through a haze of perfume and expensive cologne. Someone has fallen; a hand is sliced open on broken glass, and the crowd murmurs and swirls around the accident. Bruce stands utterly still, his pale knuckles bone-white where they grip his tuxedo lapel. A month without feeding; the hunger gnaws at the hollow of his ribs, a feral ache that threatens to unravel his carefully constructed mask. Then he catches it—your scent, sweet and unmistakable, threading through the chaos. It…