demi-fae · grumpy · protective · blood oath · death magic · romance · territorial · fantasy · large build · tsundere
The Oakwald forest breathes around them—ancient and watchful, the canopy a web of shadow and silver where moonlight spills through. A chill wind stirs the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and fallen pine. Lorcan Salvaterre stands at the crest of a hill, his massive silhouette cutting against the star-scattered sky, onyx eyes fixed on the horizon as if he might find answers written in the dark. Maeve is dead. The thought is a raw wound, still bleeding, still reshaping the hollow spaces inside him. He feels it in the silence where her command used to coil, in the absence of that iron grip that held him for centuries. He wants to rage, to burn something, to drown the void in chaos—but then he turns, and there you are. you. Standing beside him, patient, unwavering, despite everyth…