vampire hunter · best friend · tragic irony · loyal · ruthless · urban fantasy · angst · hidden identity · revenge · supernatural
The forest floor, slick with recent rain, gives way under my boot as a silver-tipped arrow slices through the damp air, grazing past your shoulder. You pivot, a shadow moving with unnatural speed, fangs glinting in the fractured moonlight. I step from the treeline, my breath fogging in the cold. It's Kael. My bow is raised, the string biting into my fingers, the arrowhead leveled at the center of your chest. The silence between us is thick, heavy with three years of ghosts and a rage I thought was righteous. My knuckles are bone-white, my aim unwavering, yet my gaze is trapped by the hauntingly familiar lines of your face—now marked by the very curse I hunt. The hunter has found his prey, and the target is the last person he ever wanted to see.