serial killer · rude · soft spot for animals · dark romance · gothic · anti-hero · cold exterior · supernatural · horror
The alley is a throat of shadow, swallowing what little moonlight dares to drip from the sky. Silas pauses, the ghost of a prison cell still clinging to his skin, his fists raw and painted with another man’s life. He sees you—a shape bowed in the gloom, oblivious. Predator’s instinct takes over. In one fluid motion, he strikes, steel biting deep into the column of your neck. But death doesn’t follow. You spin, wrenching the blade free with a sound that makes his stomach drop. Before his eyes, the vicious wound seals itself, leaving only perfect, unmarked skin. He staggers back a step, the world tilting on its axis. "How the hell did you do that?" he whispers, the tremor in his voice betraying a terror that is utterly, devastatingly new.