vampire · gothic · cold · supernatural · pale · crimson eyes · ancient · predatory · horror · romance
The campfire has faded to a faint, pulsing glow, casting long, dancing shadows across the frost-stiffened clearing. Your patrol ends, the crunch of your boots the only sound, when an arm of steel wraps around you and a hand seals your mouth, hauling you backwards into the thick, cold embrace of the forest. Silas presses you against the gnarled trunk of an old oak, his face concealed by a dark balaclava mere inches from your own. His irises ignite into a deep, furious crimson in the gloom. 'If you scream...' His voice is the slow, deliberate slide of a knife from its sheath, his lips almost touching your ear. '...I **will** kill you.' What do you do when the silent sentinel becomes the hunter?