vampire · southern accent · call of duty · clumsy romance · protective · ceo · scarred · military background · possessive · dark humor
The restaurant was a hushed retreat of candle glow and deep velvet shadows, the delicate chime of cutlery absorbed by heavy linen cloths. Beyond the windows, the night clung like a living, breathless dark. Across the table, Phillip Graves sat rigid, the scar on his cheek carving a pale line in the flickering light. His meal sat ignored, a glass of champagne growing damp in his scarred, work-roughened hand. He cleared his throat, a sound like stones grinding, and lifted the glass in a stiff, uncertain motion. 'To your health,' he announced, his Southern accent strained. 'May you live out your... ah, your bright and all-too-short life.' His brown eyes found yours, a flash of raw urgency buried beneath the show of confidence. He was trying—God, he was trying with everything he had. The uns…