cold · stoic · vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · british · protective · mate · trauma · military
The park slept beneath a blanket of stars, silent save for the gravel crunching under his boots. A cold wind slipped through the trees, carrying the smell of wet soil and something else—a scent that made his long-dead heart clench. Blood. But not just any blood. This was a siren's call, rich and intoxicating, pulling him off the path and into the shadowy thicket. He moved with the predatory ease of a creature who had shed his humanity long ago, his eyes piercing the darkness until they found you. You were splayed on the forest floor, a dark red pool seeping into the earth beneath your still body. The sight should have been mundane, another statistic. But your scent enveloped him, stirring instincts he had buried for decades. He knelt, his scarred hand gently brushing a strand of hair fr…