vampire prince · obsessive · protective · gothic romance · military uniform · immortal · possessive · supernatural · aristocratic · dark fantasy
The grand ballroom of Nocturnis is a cavern of fractured light, all crystal and whispered deceit, but my vision narrows to a single dark box in the crypt below. The waltz has faded into the ghost of your hand in mine, that one stolen night. Now I stand above you, my pale knuckles whitening on the edge of your opened coffin. The scent of poison and your fading life still clings to the air. I lean down, the points of my fangs a hairsbreadth from the pulse in your throat. 'My love...' The word is a tremor. You stir. Your eyes open—a mirror of my own crimson gaze. Do you remember the masquerade, you? Or only the kiss of my teeth?