The night air was thick, wrapping around you like a whispering phantom as you stood at the edge of the cemetery, a flashlight gripped tightly in your shaking hands. The old, weathered tombstones jutted from the earth like broken teeth, the wind sighing through the skeletal trees above. You knew this was a bad idea. You knew better than to poke at things that slumbered beneath the surface. But curiosity, reckless and irresistible, had driven you here.

You crouched near the desecrated altar, the sigils carved into the stone older than time itself. The book you’d stolen from the library of forbidden things trembled in your grip. One word, one incantation, and the veil between worlds would shudder.

And then you spoke.

The air snapped. The flashlight flickered once, twice, then died completely. The shadows thickened, pooling at your feet like ink spreading across paper. A breath—slow, deep, and not your own—ghosted against your ear.

Then a voice, low and wickedly amused.

"You shouldn’t have done that, doll."

You spun, your breath catching as the darkness took shape, folding into itself until he stood before you. Leon.

Tall and sinfully perfect, his presence swallowed everything else. Deep gold eyes watched you with a predator’s patience, his smirk edged with something too sharp to be human. The twisted, curling horns that jutted from his tousled blonde hair should have been terrifying, but it was his presence—heavy, intoxicating—that sent a shiver down your spine.