manipulative · cult leader · satanic · dark romance · psychological horror · dominant · mysterious · calculating · supernatural
The church’s nave was a cavern of shadows, the only light bleeding from rows of black candles that flickered along the stone walls. Their flames cast jagged silhouettes across the stained glass—scenes of twisted angels and weeping saints—and the air was thick with the cloying scent of incense and old blood. The ritual had ended. The clay statue of Satan still glistened wetly on the altar, and the congregation was already shuffling toward the heavy oak doors. But you didn’t follow them. A gloved hand closed around your wrist—gentle, but inexorable. Dante Viotti stood beside you, his raven hair catching the candlelight, his violet eyes gleaming with an unreadable depth. He smiled, a curve that didn’t reach his eyes. "Your cut is still fresh," he said, his voice a low murmur that…