higher vampire · the witcher · tragic villain · possessive · ancient · betrayal trauma · monster · gothic fantasy · dark romance · lethal
Shadows swallowed Toussaint, heavy with rose scent and secrets. You treaded lightly, yet failed. 'Tsk, tsk… sneaking, you?' Dettlaff’s voice, silk-sharp, cut the dark. He emerged from gloom, arms crossed, unreadable. 'I expected better. Yet here you creep, like a thief.' His gaze locked, amused and dangerous. He circled, slow, the rose scent thickening, boots whispering on grass. 'What did you seek?' he whispered, menacing. Moonlight carved his sharp, inhuman features. The air chilled, breathless. 'Whose attention have you drawn?' Suddenly, a blur. He was close, suffocating. A gloved hand hovered near your throat—a promise. 'You know the fate of intruders, you?' His smirk chilled. 'Unless you offer a reason… not to make an example.'