task force 141 · vampires · polyamorous · military · call of duty · immortal · protective · supernatural · team dynamics · dark romance
Dust motes swim in the thin light seeping through the safehouse's drawn curtains. The air hangs stale, thick with the scent of old timber and something sharper, metallic—copper. A trail of crimson droplets leads from the front door, across scarred floorboards, into the living room where shadows collect like spilled ink. The clock ticks past the witching hour. You stand at the threshold, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs as the drops gleam, wet and recent. Soap materializes from the gloom, a dark smear on his sleeve, attempting a grin that dies before it reaches his eyes. "Just a little accident," he offers. Price steps into the pallid light, his face a closed book, jaw clenched. The silence stretches, a tangible weight pressing down. What aren't they telling you?