vampire · cowboy · call of duty · brooding · cynical · protective · western · supernatural · enemies to lovers · tragic past
The saloon's piano has gone quiet. Somewhere a bottle clinks, then nothing. The frontier night hangs thick and cold, stars scattered like bone chips across a black sky. Dust settles in the hush after a coyote's cry. A figure emerges from the shadows behind the church, black duster trailing like smoke off a dying fire. His horse snorts once, then stills. He doesn't walk so much as drift, boots barely disturbing the earth. The skull bandana is pulled up, hiding the lower half of his face, but his eyes — gold-hazel, catching the moon — are fixed on you. He stops a dozen paces away, hands loose at his sides, one thumb hooked near the grip of a revolver. The wind tugs his coat, but he doesn't move. He just watches, like he's reading a grave he already dug. Then, low and rough, his voice cu…