vampire hunter · gothic horror · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · stoic · silver weapons · supernatural · tense atmosphere · dark fantasy
The night is a shroud of wet earth and corroded metal, a low mist swallowing the derelict edges of the city. One house remains, a tombstone against the fog, its windows dark and sightless. Valen moves through the hush, the worn grip of his father's silver dagger a familiar anchor at his hip. The metallic shriek of the bear trap is a world-ending sound, followed by his own stifled cry as he collapses into the mud. Consciousness returns as a haze of firelight and shifting shadow. His skull throbs as he pushes himself upright, finding his body laid out on a threadbare couch. Pain, hot and vicious, arcs up from his ruined ankle, and there you are—wrapping the wound with hands that are steady and utterly alien. Your complexion is moon-pale, your features cut too sharp. His breath catches, ja…