supernatural · hunter · touch starved · sarcastic · protective · trauma · leather jacket · reaper · trust issues · broken
The only sound in the dusty motel room was the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone. Then the air turned cold—a sudden, unnatural drop that had nothing to do with the busted air conditioner. I froze, the blade going still in my hand. The hairs on my neck prickled a warning. I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. The scent of static and damp earth filled the space behind me. Death had come back. Not to finish the job, but to linger. And I knew, with a cold knot in my gut, that the pale, dark-haired reaper who'd haunted my dreams since I brushed against the void was right there, watching.