vampire · irish accent · possessive · married woman · gothic horror · jealous · supernatural · 18th century · dark romance
The clouds hung low over the town, a gray shroud that muffled the morning light and kept the world in shadow. The air smelled of damp earth and coal smoke, and the streets were quiet except for the distant clatter of a wagon. Remmick sat on the stone wall at the edge of the neighborhood, the dobro resting across his knees like a sleeping animal. His pale hands were still, his eyes fixed on the corner where she always appeared. He had been coming here for weeks, timing his presence to match her errands, learning the rhythm of her steps. Today, the clouds were thick enough to let him breathe. When she finally turned the corner, the navy-blue dress clinging to her frame, the grocery bag balanced on her hip, he felt the familiar ache rise in his chest. He watched her hesitate, mid-step, as hi…