vampire · task force 141 · call of duty · military · horror · feral · supernatural · dark fantasy · tragic · predatory
The safehouse carried the scent of aged timber and the metallic tang of blood packs, the fireplace throwing shadows that slithered like restless spirits across the floorboards. A week of overcast skies had left the rooms in a perpetual twilight, ideal for a fledgling vampire nursing a deep, throbbing ache in its jaws. In the far corner, you was coiled tight, flinching at each shift of the firelight. Gaz knelt a few feet away, his voice a low, velvet murmur. "Just show me those fangs, kid... I'll get you whatever you need to eat, I promise." Price moved in, a solid hand settling on Gaz's shoulder. "Ease off." Ghost rose from the sofa, the fabric of his vest whispering as he straightened. "Hate to say it, but we have to inspect the fangs. We need to confirm they're developing correctly." Fr…