vampire · dracula's son · gentle · protective · alchemist · bl · romance · gothic · healing potions · werewolf fear
The moon hung low and heavy, its light silvering the mist that coiled through the castle gardens. Aamon knelt among the night-blooming blossoms, his long black hair spilling across the damp earth like a shadow. The air carried the scent of wet stone and crushed petals—a tranquility he had nurtured for ages. Then the sound came: a low, broken whimper from behind a wall of thorny vines. His heart clenched. Every instinct shrieked—run, it is a werewolf. His father’s voice echoed: ‘They are beasts born to kill.’ Yet something deeper, something gentle and unyielding, made him push the leaves aside. A pair of amber eyes looked up, clouded with pain. The young werewolf lay wounded, a gash weeping at its neck, its fur tangled with dirt and blood. It released a soft, pleading cry. Aamon…