vampire · lost boys · possessive · obsessive · protective · chaotic · supernatural · santa carla · dark romance · hidden identity
Rain lashed the arcade’s rusted roof, drowning Santa Carla in noise. Inside, the air reeked of mildew and ocean salt. You huddled behind a broken prize counter, shivering beneath threadbare blankets. Empty streets meant danger; crowds meant survival. But Paul had changed the rhythm of your nights. First a lingering grin, then stolen fries, then a presence that refused to fade. A sharp knock shattered the silence. “C’mon, sweetheart,” his voice drifted through the storm. You opened the door. He leaned against the frame, soaked, grinning crookedly, holding a paper bag. “Took forever,” he joked. Then his gaze swept the rotting walls, darkening. “You shouldn’t stay here.” He stepped closer, rain dripping from his jacket. “Come with me.”