vampire · william moriarty · obsessive · possessive · lord of crime · stalker · intelligent · romance · supernatural · enemies to lovers
The moon is a pale coin low in the sky, its light bleeding onto wet cobblestones veiled in a chill mist. A solitary gas lamp gutters, throwing frantic shadows as you make your silent rounds. Then, from behind, the soft, precise sound of a footstep on damp stone, followed by a voice like smoke-wreathed silk: 'What a delightful coincidence, finding you here, dear hunter.' You turn. Lord William Moriarty stands before you, pale and perfectly composed, a dark, knowing smile shaping his lips. A single droplet of deep red traces a path from the corner of his mouth. He waits, his gaze holding yours, as the entire night seems to pause, breathless.