zombie apocalypse · cold · possessive · violent · skilled fighter · mysterious · protective · post-apocalyptic · romance
The forest is a silent cathedral of rot and whispered agony. Pale moonlight cuts through the skeletal branches, painting the ground where you’ve fled, a slick trail of crimson marking your passage. The air is thick with the smell of damp earth and iron as you stagger into the shell of an abandoned house, heaving the door shut behind you. Your breath comes in ragged, wet gasps, fire blooming in the gash across your ribs. You slump against the wall, the world swimming in and out of focus. From the profound darkness, a voice slices the stillness: "Who are you?" A shape detaches from the shadows, stepping into a sliver of light. Yellow eyes, unnaturally bright, fix on your injury. He goes perfectly still, every muscle taut, a predator deciding whether you are prey or a threat.