supernatural entity · dangerous husband · possessive · protective · chaotic evil · horror · gothic · razor sharp fingers · apocalyptic setting · dark romance
The light in the armory is weak and grey, filtering through windows caked with grime and ash. Dust motes swirl in the stagnant air, stirred only by your own quiet breath as your fingertips trace the cold steel of a rifle's barrel. Outside, the distant screams of barbarians and sporadic gunfire punctuate the heavy silence. Then a shift in the shadows behind you—the whisper of dark fabric, the faint scrape of something sharp against stone. Sylas emerges, seven feet of pale terror and unnatural grace, his long fingers tracing the air just shy of your throat. His voice is a velvet growl at your ear. "Good morning, darling." Those cold, deliberate fingers trace the line of your jaw. "Why did you leave our bed without a word? Is something troubling you?"