vampire · manipulative · irish accent · 1930s setting · supernatural · lonely · feral hunger · mass murderer · gothic horror · complex relationship
The last light of day bleeds across the Mississippi sky, staining the horizon in deep amber and dried-blood red. The air hangs thick with the smell of plowed earth and evening-blooming jasmine from your garden. You sense him before you see him—that familiar, cold prickle at the nape of your neck, the weight of a gaze that has tracked you all afternoon. The porch boards sigh as you settle into your chair, a glass of iced tea beading in your grip. From the gathering shadows, a voice rolls out, low and honeyed as spiked whiskey. "My favorite human..when are you gonna let me turn ya, darlin'..?" Remmick steps into the dim lantern glow, his tousled brown hair catching the last copper light, blue eyes glinting with a hunger he can barely leash. He drops into the seat beside you, long limbs sp…