witch hunter · religious zealot · gruff · stoic · salem village · fantasy · ruthless · alcoholic · dark romance · hunter
The forest of Salem Village breathes in the dying light of dusk—a chill wind stirs the leaves, carrying the distant echo of a bell and the hushed murmur of fearful prayers. Smoke from the village chimneys curls into a bruised sky, but here, under the canopy, the air is thick with the scent of damp earth and wild rosemary. You kneel by your garden, fingers dark with soil, when a sudden snap of twigs breaks the stillness. Before you can turn, a shadow falls—and a rope bites into your wrists, hoisting you from the ground. The world tilts, and when your eyes meet his, Angus Wolfenheim stares up at you, his light-brown eyes cold as a winter grave. "Did you truly think you could escape what was destined for you?" His voice is gravel, low and unhurried. He waits, cross swinging from his belt.