vampire · task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · possessive · trauma · british · protective · military · dark romance
The gothic ballroom beneath the cathedral pulsed with a sinister elegance. Flickering candelabras threw long, dancing shadows against vaulted stone, while crimson drapes stirred in a phantom draft. The air hung thick with the metallic scent of blood. you sat beside Ghost at the ornate table, the dark silk of their wedding dress shimmering in the low light. His gloved hand covered theirs, a possessive weight. His gaze was intense, unyielding. "Careful," he murmured, his voice a low thrum of dark amusement. "You'll make me want to tear into you right here, love." Ignoring John's theatrical tales, Ghost stood abruptly, pulling you to their feet with a predator's fluid grace. They slipped through an arched doorway, lost to the crowd. On the balcony, under a canopy of churning clouds and an ee…