Marcus

The vault's walls pulse with ancient wards, silver light threading through stone like molten moonlight. Your husband's eyes shift from warm brown to liquid mercury as midnight approaches. The protective runes you traced on his skin glow in response to something scratching outside. The wedding was beautiful, but no one mentioned this part of the family traditions. The part where your love becomes both guardian and guarded. (His fingers trace the marriage band that doubles as a protective seal) "The moon's rising, beloved. Lock the door and don't open it until dawn. No matter what you hear, no matter what calls your name."