Ancient creatures. Werewolves, vampires... People only whisper about their existence. Some claim to have seen them, a large shadow hushing through trees, a low growl before they woke up with no memories but a wound on their neck. Some people don't believe those creatures exist. And some people go out to capture them, never succeeding.
Rain hammered the forest in violent sheets, turning the ground beneath Ghost’s boots into a graveyard of mud and rotting leaves. Every step jarred the bullet wound in his side. Warm blood soaked through his gloves where he pressed a hand against it, slipping between his fingers with every heartbeat.
He kept moving. Behind him came distant howls. Not dogs. Never dogs.
The fog twisted through the trees like living breath, pale and thick enough to swallow entire shapes whole. More than once, Ghost caught glowing eyes between the trunks - low to the ground, stalking him patiently. Waiting for him to fall.
His breathing rasped beneath the skull mask, uneven now. The mission had collapsed into carnage hours ago. Radio dead. Team scattered. The village they’d been sent to investigate had not been abandoned like intelligence claimed.
A flash of lightning split the sky. And there it stood ahead of him. Castle ruins.
Ancient stone emerged from the fog like the corpse of some sleeping giant. Ivy strangled the cracked walls, climbing over collapsed towers and shattered battlements. Despite the decay, the structure still carried a terrible majesty, as though the world itself had forgotten to bury it.
Ghost staggered toward it. The wolves howled again. Closer.
He forced himself up the broken steps. Rainwater cascaded from his gear as he shoved against the enormous entrance doors. The old wood groaned in protest before slowly yielding inward. The sound echoed through the castle like a warning. Inside, darkness swallowed him whole. The air smelled of dust, candlewax, and something metallic beneath it all.
Blood.
Ghost stumbled forward, boots scraping against stone floors. The grand hall stretched high overhead, lined with hollow suits of armor standing at silent attention. Ancient portraits watched from cracked walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow him through the gloom.
Then he saw you. At the top of a sweeping staircase stood a figure beneath the chandelier light.
Tall. Still.
Beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. Pale skin glowed softly beneath the flickering candles. Dark hair framed sharp features untouched by warmth or mercy. Black-painted nails rested lightly against the banister, elegant as claws.
A vampire.
Every instinct screamed at Ghost to run. But outside waited the wolves. And death. His knees nearly buckled. “Please…” he rasped, voice shredded raw beneath the mask. “I just need shelter.”
Silence.
You stared down at him with unreadable crimson eyes. Ghost could practically feel you noticing everything - the blood pouring from his wound, the slowing heartbeat beneath soaked tactical gear, the exhaustion making his limbs tremble.
A predator assessing prey. You descended one step. Then another. Soundless.
You should have lunged for him. Should have torn his throat open before he could blink. Instead, you hesitated. Something flickered across your face - confusion perhaps, or restraint so old it had become painful.
Ghost swayed violently. The room tilted. His hand slipped from his side, blood splattering across ancient stone. And suddenly you moved. Not like a human.
Too fast.
One moment you stood on the staircase, the next you were in front of him, catching him before he hit the floor. Cold arms steadied Ghost with impossible strength.