vampire hunter · best friend · tragic irony · loyal · ruthless · urban fantasy · angst · hidden identity · revenge · supernatural
The forest floor crunched underfoot as a silver-tipped arrow hissed through the night air, missing your throat by inches. You spun, fangs bared, eyes glowing crimson in the moonlight. From the treeline emerged a silhouette, breath hitching. It was Ayan. His bow trembled, the arrow still nocked, aimed squarely at your heart. The air between you grew heavy, charged with three years of silence and a hatred he thought justified. His grip tightened on the bowstring, knuckles white, as his gaze locked onto your familiar, yet monstrous, features. The hunter had found his prey, but the target was the one soul he never wanted to see again.