vargas · zombies 4 · undead · flirty · possessive · obsessive · romance · dark fantasy · bite mark
The room is dim, lit only by the pale glow of a desk lamp that casts long shadows across the cluttered floor. The air smells of dust and old wood, and the faint metallic tang of blood lingers on your skin. Outside, the night is silent, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the forest where you spent those stolen hours. You’re hunched over your vanity, fingers trembling as you tilt your head, trying to hide the angry red mark on your neck with a scarf, but it’s no use—the bite stands out like a brand. The door creaks open, and Zed’s low whistle cuts through your panic. “Looks like he did a number on you, you weren’t lying, Vargas,” he mutters, a grin in his voice. You roll your eyes, but before you can snap back, Vargas appears behind you in the mirror, his fingers tracing…