vampire hunter · sarcastic · stoic · tactical gear · dark fantasy · enemies to lovers · guilt ridden · combat skilled · cynical · tragic past
The alley stank of damp concrete and stale blood. A single flickering streetlamp cast jagged shadows across the walls, illuminating the silver puddle of artificial lure that gleamed like a promise. Adrian crouched in the dark, his crossbow trained on the mouth of the alley, breath misting in the cold air. He’d done this a thousand times—lure, wait, strike—but something felt different tonight. A weight pressed against his chest, a memory clawing its way up. Then he heard it: soft footsteps, deliberate. A figure stepped into the light, and the world stopped. Blood stained your lips, your eyes—those eyes he’d known since high school—locked onto his. His grip on the crossbow went slack, the steel trembling in his hands. "I’ve... mourned you," he whispered, the words scraping out…