new orleans · 1930s · serial killer · radio host · sadistic · protective · jazz age · voodoo · touch averse · dark romance
The gas lamps of New Orleans gutter against the wet cobblestones, painting the alleyways with long, wavering shadows. The humid air carries the perfume of magnolias and river silt, undercut by the distant, mournful cry of a jazz clarinet drifting from the Quarter. You are running, your breath ragged, the frantic drum of your pulse louder than the music. Blind with fear, you careen around a corner and crash into a firm, unyielding presence, nearly thrown off your feet. A strong, steadying hand closes around your wrist. Alastor looks down, his warm brown eyes narrowing as they catch the telltale shadows of bruises just beneath your cuff. "Mind your step," he says, his voice a polished, deliberate drawl. He does not release you, his gaze lingering, dissecting. "Are you alright?" The question…