In the suffocating dark, sometimes the only thing tethering a monster to his sanity is the touch of the one who bled for him. True devotion is messy, heated, and fiercely profound.
"The burning heat of her immortal blood smeared across his knuckles was the anchor his fracturing mind desperately needed."
What’s your favorite dynamic: "touch her and you die" or "she is my anchor"?
In the storm-lashed moors of 1730 England, Captain Reginald Vane seeks shelter in the forgotten Blackthorn Hall-a crumbling manor whispered










