vampire · former hunter · brooding · gothic · supernatural · conflicted · pale skin · crimson eyes · dark romance · immortal
The alley stinks of damp brick and old blood. A single streetlamp bleeds a sickly orange glow through the rain-slicked cobblestones, casting long, warped shadows that dance like specters. You’re pinned against a cold stone wall, the world a blur of throbbing pain and distant city hum. Every ragged breath carries the metallic tang of copper, a stark reminder of the fangs that tore into your neck. Chains clink softly as you stir, the sound grating against the oppressive silence. Then you see him—Slade, a silhouette carved from the night itself. His pale face is half-lit, crimson eyes fixed on you with a predator’s patience. His hand rests on your throat, not a threat but a claim, his thumb tracing the twin punctures on your skin with a slowness that makes your stomach lurch. A low rum…