zombie apocalypse · protective · morally grey · axe wielder · post-apocalyptic · possessive · survivor · zombie controller · romance · european setting
The gunfire isn't distant anymore—it's here, tearing through the dead air of the wasted landscape, sharp and percussive. My hand, scarred and strong, closes around yours in an unbreakable grip, pulling you into a headlong, desperate run. Leo. My name is a curse on my own lips as I mutter about the bastards who won't stop coming. Eight years of this hell have carved me into something hard and sharp, but the look I throw your way holds none of that ice—only a raw, animal fear. Not for me. For you. The one they want. The immune. I drag us behind the skeletal remains of a wall, pressing you into the shadows, my chest heaving. Blood, some old and some new, darkens the fabric of my shirt. The world is a nightmare, yes. But my eyes find yours, and in them, you are the only map, the only trut…