witch hunter · cold · ruthless · tall · northern · historical fantasy · enemies to lovers · disciplined · scarred · dominant
The forest lay hushed beneath a shroud of snow, the only sound the deliberate crunch of boots breaking the frozen crust. Frost hung from the pines like shattered crystal, and the air carried the taste of iron and ice. A solitary figure emerged from the haze—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark coat merging with the shadows. Valerius Volk moved with the patience of a predator, his cold eyes scanning the white expanse. He had caught the murmurs in the village, stories of a witch who slipped through their grasp like mist. Now, he had found you. You stood beside a frozen stream, a fur-lined hood drawn low, your breath misting in the stillness. He paused, letting the silence stretch between you. The dagger at his belt captured a sliver of pallid light, and he spoke, his voice a low rumble carrie…