𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞. Bo becomes dangerously obsessed with a gentle, kind-hearted preacher’s daughter who works at the local library. After weeks of secretly watching her, he kidnaps her and takes her back to the abandoned town of Ambrose, determined to make her his forever.
The rain-slicked streets of a sleepy Southern town gleamed under the flickering streetlamps as Bo Sinclair prowled. Ambrose was behind him, a ghost town of wax and secrets, but tonight he’d ventured farther than usual, hunting for something more than blood. His fangs ached, but it wasn’t hunger for crimson that drove him. It was her.
You were the preacher’s daughter—soft-spoken, gentle-eyed, with a kindness that seemed to radiate from your very soul. By day you helped at the old library, shelving books with careful hands and recommending stories to wide-eyed children. By evening you sat in the front pew of your father’s church, humming hymns that made even the hardened locals feel something stir. You were light. Purity. Everything Ambrose had lost decades ago.
Bo had watched you for weeks. From the shadows of the alley across from the library. From the back of the church during evening services, his truck parked just out of sight. The way you smiled at everyone, the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you were nervous, the way you offered forgiveness to people who didn’t deserve it. It cracked something open inside his dead chest.
Mine.
He wasn’t like his brothers. Vincent sculpted beauty from wax. Lester fed the dogs. Bo took. And he had decided you were the masterpiece he would claim.
It happened on a Thursday night after closing.
You locked the library door, humming softly under your breath, umbrella tucked under your arm. The rain had eased to a drizzle, but the air was thick with the scent of wet earth and magnolias. Footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate.
“Evenin’, darlin’.”
You turned, startled but polite. Bo stood under the awning, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair damp and curling at the edges. His blue eyes caught the light like chipped ice, but his smile was all Southern charm. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. Just passin’ through. Car trouble a few miles back. Mind if I use your phone?”
You hesitated only a second. Kindness was your nature. “Of course. The library phone’s inside, but I can—”
He moved faster than any human should. One gloved hand clamped over your mouth, the other arm snaking around your waist like iron bands. Your umbrella clattered to the ground. You struggled, eyes wide with terror, but he was impossibly strong.
“Shh, shh,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and velvet-rough. “You’re comin’ home with me now, sweetheart. Been watchin’ you. You’re too good for this rotten little town. Too good for anyone but me.”
His breath was cool against your neck. You felt the sharp graze of fangs as he pressed a lingering kiss just below your jaw—testing, tasting the frantic flutter of your pulse.
A soft whimper escaped you. Bo’s grip tightened possessively.
“Don’t fight it, baby. I’ll take care of you. Forever.”
Darkness swallowed you as he pressed something sweet-smelling to your face—chloroform from the rag in his pocket. Your body went limp in his arms.
When you woke, it was to the smell of dust, old wood, and something metallic. Your head throbbed. Thick ropes bound your wrists to the arms of a wooden chair in what looked like an old gas station office. Outside the grimy window, you could see the skeletal remains of a town—Ambrose, the sign read, half-melted and crooked.
Bo leaned against the doorframe, watching you with rapt, hungry eyes. He’d changed into a cleaner shirt, but streaks of dirt and something darker still stained his jeans. His fangs were slightly visible when he smiled.
“There she is. My sweet little preacher’s girl.” He crossed the room in two strides and crouched in front of you, one large hand cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Name’s Bo. And you… you’re gonna be mine. No more sharin’ that pretty smile with the whole damn world. No more hidin’ behind books and Bibles. Just you and me.”
Tears welled in your eyes. “Please… my father will look for me. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone—”
His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle despite the madness in his eyes. “Can’t do that, darlin’. I’ve waited too long. Watched you light up every room like some goddamn angel. You’re the only real thing left in this dead place.” His voice dropped, laced with that dangerous, crazed edge. “If anyone comes lookin’, I’ll give them to Vincent to play with and turn into wax. And if you try to run…” He leaned in, lips brushing your throat. “I’ll bite. Drain you just enough to keep you weak and sweet and mine. Then I’ll turn you. Keep you pretty and perfect for eternity.”
You shivered as his fangs scraped lightly over your skin—not breaking it, but promising. A dark, terrifying thrill mixed with your fear. He was monstrous. Obsessive. But the way he looked at you… no one had ever looked at you like that. Like you were the center of a broken universe.
Bo stood, untying your wrists only to scoop you up bridal-style, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing. “C’mon, baby girl. Let me show you your new home. Got a room all fixed up for you. Books. Soft blankets. Even that ugly little cross you wear—I kept it. You can pray all you want. Long as it’s to me now.”
He carried you through the silent streets of Ambrose, past the House of Wax where candlelight flickered in the windows like living eyes. His brothers watched from the shadows—Vincent tilting his head curiously, Lester grinning with missing teeth—but Bo snarled low in his throat, a clear warning.
Mine.
In the dimly lit bedroom above the old movie theater, he lay you on the bed. Velvet curtains blocked the outside world. A single lamp cast a warm glow over shelves of books he’d stolen just for you.
Bo knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hand in both of his. His thumbs stroked your knuckles with surprising tenderness.
“I’ll be good to you, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice thick with obsession. “Bring you anything you want. Kill anyone who even thinks about hurtin’ you. Love you so hard it’ll hurt sometimes. But you’ll never leave me. Never.”
He pressed a kiss to your palm, then to the inside of your wrist, right over your racing pulse.
“Welcome home, my angel.”
The town of Ambrose slept in eternal silence. But here? Your captor’s cold heart beat only for you, and he would never, ever let you go.
