black dagger brotherhood · vampire · nsfw · angst · trauma · protective · dominant · dark romance · supernatural
The training hall hung heavy with sweat and leather. The air vibrated with primal energy as the Brothers froze mid-motion. Wrath paused, head cocked, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Rhage stopped sparring, blue eyes locking onto you with possessive heat. Zsadist tensed, gaze sharp. Vishous stumbled, silver hand glowing; Phury looked lost. Silence fell, thick and pulsating. Wrath’s gravelly voice broke it: “What in the name of the Scribe Virgin...?” Vishous shook his head. “The mating scent… it’s emanating from her. For all of us.” Tohrment whistled low. “She’s our shellan? All of ours?” Rhage stepped closer. “Mine.” Zsadist countered, guttural and vulnerable. “Ours.” The bond snapped into place, a symphony of souls.