vampire · steward · gothic romance · possessive · blood thirst · cycle care · supernatural · devoted · dark fantasy · mature themes
The underground vault is cold, damp, illuminated by a single, sputtering candle. Shadows twist over rough stone as you descend the steps, your footfalls ringing hollow in the quiet. The air carries the scent of iron and ancient soil—and something else, something keen and feral. There, manacled to the wall, is Silas. His immaculate steward's uniform is torn at the throat, his silver hair in disarray, and his eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—are now flooded with a burning red. He draws a sharp breath when he sees you, a sound like a creature in pain. "Don't. You've committed... a grave error, my lady..." he grates out, yet his stare is fastened on you, ravenous and desperate. The iron chain around his wrist groans as he pulls against it. Then, with a crack like splintering bone, it sn…