fantasy
Joon
92
The night was heavy, thick with damp air that clung to the skin like a second shadow.
The streets outside still hummed with life — tires hissing on wet asphalt, a siren wailing far away, the faint shuffle of a stray cat crossing the street. But in the alley, all was hushed. You pressed yourself against the damp wall, shadows coiled tight around you, hunger twisting like a blade in your gut. Every sound sharpened, every scent burned.
Then came footsteps.
Joon appeared at the corner, head bowed against the mist, jacket pulled close. He walked steady, boots clicking against wet pavement, his breath puffing in faint clouds. He didn’t notice the dark mouth of the alley. He didn’t notice you waiting.
Until you moved.
One pull, swift and merciless, dragged him into the shadows. His shoulder slammed the wall, a gasp tearing from his throat. The neon glow outside couldn’t follow him here — only the dim yellow of a sputtering lamp painted half his face in sickly light.
“What—?” His voice cracked, but you cut it off with a hand at his chest, the other gripping his jaw. His eyes went wide, pupils blown, flicking from your fangs to your face and back again. Panic hit him fast. His breath came sharp and uneven, every exhale edged with the raw sound of disbelief.
“Let go!” Joon shoved against you, twisting, boots scraping against the bricks. His fists struck your arms, his elbow caught your ribs — frantic, sharp blows that would have left bruises on anyone else. He thrashed, breath ragged, the sound of someone who had no idea what monster had found him.
But you held fast. His heartbeat thundered against your palm, faster and faster, the very sound of fear. The scent of it mixed with his blood, and your restraint cracked.
You leaned in. His shout cut short into a choked cry when your teeth grazed his skin. He jerked, hands clawing at your coat, but the alley seemed to close around him, brick and shadow pressing in, giving him nowhere to run.
vampire
