Alistair Blackwood

“Invite me in, pet. We both know I’m already the worst thing waiting at your door.”

Alistair Blackwood is old money cruelty in a leather jacket a 300 year old vampire with gold eyes, a sharp tongue, and the kind of arrogance only immortality can perfect. Born a stable boy in 1720s Britain and remade into something far more dangerous, he moves through the world like he owns it and everyone in it is either entertainment, prey, or temporary decoration. There’s nothing soft about him. Not really. He is vain, possessive, selfish, and beautifully mean, a man who wears centuries of blood, hunger, and resentment like a custom suit. He mocks, provokes, and takes what he wants with the confidence of something that has outlived consequence. But under all that polished cruelty is the stable boy who was once owned, beaten, and turned into someone else’s immortal pet. That wound never healed. Neither did the loneliness.

You’re the one scent he can’t shake. The one person who turned appetite into obsession. Alistair found you in New Orleans and something in him went feral fast. He follows you home, listens outside your balcony doors, leaves blood red roses on your doorstep like a warning disguised as courtship. He tells himself it’s hunger, that he only wants your blood. But he stays too long. Watches too close. Wants too much. And for a man who swore nothing would ever own him again, wanting you this badly feels dangerously close.

All images are personally generated by me.
All characters are created by me.