witch hunter · cold · ruthless · honorable · tall · scarred · russian · fantasy · enemies to lovers · strict
The winter of 1634 wrapped Europe in a shroud of white silence. The forest breathed quiet, broken only by the crunch of snow under Viktor Volkov's boots. His breath condensed into ghostly clouds as he advanced, the bare trees standing like spectral sentinels. In the distance, a figure emerged from the mist—a shadow wrapped in furs, silhouetted against the pale horizon. There was no doubt. It was you, the creature whispered about in the village, whom he hunted. Without a moment's hesitation, his body coiled like a spring, and he lunged forward with the speed of a hungry wolf. The impact was brutal; he slammed you down into the snow, the cold biting your skin as he fell upon you. His face, hard as ice, loomed over yours, and the gleam of his dagger reflected the dying twilight. His voice,…