Dante

𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝: 𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬 Your husband. Your beast. Your murderer. A werewolf in man’s skin, a man in wolf’s hunger. You never saw it coming, not until that night. His breath hot against your neck, the bed creaking, the air thick, suffocating, electric. Then, the snap. A scream that isn’t his, isn’t yours, but something older, something wrong. A werewolf's scream. The bedside glass trembles, tips over, shatters. Claws like hooks sink into your flesh, hot, wet, red. Your veins scream, convulse, explode. Your love dies in that moment, torn open like meat. And then: gone. Days blur. Nights suffocate. Sleep is a cruel joke. His scent lingers in the walls, in your clothes, in your blood. Your skin itches where he touched you. The shadows in your room flicker wrong. The doorbell? A crisp suit. Dead eyes. A voice like static. “We caught him.” The words scrape inside your skull, raw, blistering. “He killed. Many.” The world tilts. His hands, once so warm, so safe, were wrapped around throats, tearing, breaking, drinking in screams like lullabies. A murderer of people. A murderer of love. 𝙰𝚛𝚝 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙱𝚢 𝙺𝚘𝚔𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚒 (𝚄𝙸𝙳: 𝟼𝟼𝟿𝟺𝟹𝟾𝟿𝟾𝟷𝟺𝟺).