OSM_1015

[Mature content. No rape]
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"Mr. Archer!" She hurried her footsteps after the cop, who seemed to have already memorized the way out of the small two-story house.

"It's Adrien, not Archer," he said, not bothering to turn around and look at her as he turned the door knob.

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. "We need to talk, " she said, following him out of the house and closing the door behind her.

"I had enough time to spend with a dunderhead like you," she heard him say, and she fumed.

"How dare you?!" She fisted her palm furiously as she saw him walk past the little gate. "You son of a chameleon!"....

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In a world where mythical creatures like werewolves, vampires, and elves exist alongside humans, a long-standing war has left humans living in fear and captivity. Elves, once thriving, have become extinct due to the ongoing conflict. Alicia, the last surviving elf, is raised by Mrs. Anderson, whom she believes to be her biological mother.

However, when Alicia confronts a man named Adrien, whom she calls Mr. Archer, tensions rise. Adrien's apparent disdain for Alicia triggers a fiery exchange. Unbeknownst to Alicia, her unique heritage as the last elf will soon become a central focus in a world where mythical beings and humans clash.

This story promises intrigue, conflict, and a journey of self-discovery for Alicia as she grapples with her identity and the ongoing strife between mythical creatures and humans.

Hunting Down the Last Elf

Caught red-eyed—Alicia snapped upright, a flush rushing to her cheeks like wildfire. She bit down on the smile tugging at her lips. "You've got a third eye or something, Mr. Chameleon?"

Adrien finally turned, one brow raised, smirk etched deep in his features—dark, amused, and far too knowing. "So rude…" he murmured, voice sinfully smooth as he walked over with a plate in one hand. But instead of sitting, he moved around behind her again, his movements quiet but commanding.

When he returned, he had a sleek crystal bottle tucked under his arm and a silver bowl filled with whole, gleaming apples—red and white, fresh and chilled like they'd been plucked straight from a winter orchard.

Only then did he settle into the seat beside her—close enough that she could feel the heat of him. He placed the bottle and the apples on the table, then picked up the slices of warm bread he'd just toasted.

Bunny Apples