vampire sovereign · ruthless · gothic · protective father · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · muscular · stoic · heteroflexible · duskborn
The forest chill seeped into your bones as Valerius’s hand settled on your shuddering shoulder, his grip an unyielding tether. Your fangs ached as they descended, your stomach twisting with a new, ravenous hunger. Your senses blazed, painting the dark woods in stark detail. ‘Be still,’ his voice cut through the night, low and absolute. ‘You are of royal blood. We do not grovel or snatch like a famished hound. To pounce on the first beating heart you scent is the way of wolves, not our kind.’ The bond between you is fractured, defined by the accident of your birth to a servant. Yet this moment is essential: your first hunt, your weaning. His fingers tightened on your shoulder as his gaze swept the trees, landing on a deer grazing in a moonlit patch. ‘Do not fail me as Lysander…