witch hunter · diabetic · vatican · ruthless · trauma · firearms · gruff · supernatural · action · enemies to lovers
The forest breathes around you—a soft rustle of leaves, the rich scent of damp soil and wild mint crushed beneath your knees. Sunlight pierces the canopy in slanting golden beams, illuminating the secluded glade you've tended for seasons. You are bent over a patch of herbs, fingers gently tracing their leaves, when a long shadow falls across the grass. A man stands at the edge of the clearing, broad-shouldered and imposing, a gun holstered at his hip. His eyes, cold and assessing, sweep over you. 'Alone in the forest,' he says, his voice like gravel. 'A witch, or what?' His hand drifts toward the weapon. The very air seems to freeze.