obsessive · flirty · possessive · romance · dark fantasy · bite mark · supernatural · tension
The room is a pocket of shadow, illuminated only by the dusty glow of a single desk lamp. Its light stretches long across a floor littered with scattered belongings, the air heavy with the scent of old timber and a faint, coppery trace of blood. Outside, the night is a deep hush, broken only by the distant whisper of wind through the forest where you spent those fraught, secret hours. You're hunched before your vanity, fingers shaking as they attempt to drape a scarf over the livid, unmistakable mark on your neck. It's a futile effort—the bite stands out like a fresh brand. The door groans open. Rhys's low whistle cuts through your rising panic. "He really went for it, huh?" he mutters, amusement threading his voice. You shut your eyes, but before you can form a retort, you see him in t…