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sweetrevxnge · 2 years

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Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter One

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter II

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Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Halloween!!! I wanted to share the first chapter of the medieval/vampire AU fic that I've been working on for the past few months. Basically, I rewatched Game of Thrones and Castlevania and set out to write a Kylo Ren AU related to both. And what better time to start uploading it than Halloween!! My primary focus is still finishing Like Phantoms, Forever, but my goal is to continue working on and uploading this story as well. Let me know what you think of it!

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Icy wind burned your eyes as you rode under the moonless sky. Sparse trees passed by as your steed marched along the dark path, treading through the thick blanket of snow that covered the forest floor. Around you, delicate snowflakes floated down from the heavens, catching on the limbs of towering pines and landing on your cheeks, only to melt on your warm skin.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about this weather, with storm clouds draping the inky sky like a wool cloak, snuffing out the cool light of the moon and her stars. In the winter, nights like these were familiar. But not tonight.

This night was bitterly cold, the type of cold that even the thickest furs couldn’t warm. Now, after hours of trekking through the forest, you resented Commander Dameron’s decision for the squadron to not wear helmets. In theory, it seemed like the best way to increase visibility in the midnight hour. But now, with chattering teeth and a visibility of less than a few meters, you were less than pleased.

Commander Dameron had left his helmet behind at the base as well. Although, it was less of a rare occurrence for him. He seldom wore a full suit of armor, which under any other circumstance could be attributed to a plethora of reasons. Pride, confidence, or his incessant need to make his enemy aware that he was being slain by a more handsome man than he. Regardless of his reasoning, you didn’t outwardly oppose the Commander’s decision. If there was one thing you had learned during your time in the Resistance, it was to never question your commander, even over something as frivolous as a helmet. His orders came directly from the General, which meant regardless of your opinion on the matter, his discretion was final. General Organa was a pragmatic woman, and after six years of serving her, she had yet to lead you astray. You expected that tonight would be no different.

Covert operations were nothing new to you, having taken part in over a dozen successful missions before. Even when things became precarious, you were able to keep your wits about you and get your men out in one piece. It was for this reason that the General trusted you with the most sensitive missions, like tonight’s.

As you neared the location of the reported First Order encampment, trepidation rolled through your stomach. There was something uncomfortable about these woods, more than the typical unease of marching into the unknown, or the prospect of losing your men in a bloodbath. The forest felt suffocating, as if you were being swallowed by the trees the further you rode. Perhaps it was the moonless sky causing your skin to crawl, or the eerie silence that surrounded you.

In front of you, Commander Dameron was barely visible through the heavy snowfall, and further away than you would have liked him to be. But then again, that was how he typically operated.

His daring attitude and hunger for battle were just a few of your favorite qualities of his, with his striking good looks and razor-sharp wit following closely behind. He was a natural leader, often utilizing every quality in his arsenal to earn cooperation from his soldiers, including yourself.

The two of you worked well together, sharing a chemistry both in leadership and out in the field. Thanks to his effortless charisma and affinity for your presence, you had been his loyal right-hand for many years. The General could always rely on your squadron to extract the intelligence she needed, or defeat any amount of stormtroopers that impeded her cause.

For six long years, the sovereign state of Hosnian Prime had been plagued by war, its people forced to bend the knee to the usurper First Order or lose their head. While many citizens chose to submit their will, there were those who refused to comply, who sacrificed everything for liberty. The Resistance was born from their bravery, their determination to fight for what was just. It was their emblem that you wore proudly on your armor, the same emblem that inspired hope in the downtrodden and oppressed throughout the world.

The moment Vice Chancellor Snoke flaunted the severed head of Chancellor Villecham to the people of Republic City, you knew that fighting this war was your only option if you wanted to save your home. The carnage that ensued in the city square was nothing short of pure evil and to this day, despite the brutality you had since witnessed and partaken in, still made your stomach churn. In the days that followed, Snoke led vicious attacks on the remaining New Republic officials, with word of his violence reaching you and the other fugitives not long after. The destruction of Hosnian Prime’s liberty was the catalyst for your enlistment in the Resistance, and remained as the motivation to end this civil war.

You tried not to dwell much on that horrific day, but it was difficult to avoid on long rides like this, finding that your mind would often drift there when you were riding towards an imminent battle. The tight secrecy of this operation was unsettling, but what little information you did know was repeating ceaselessly in your head.

The purpose of this mission was to ambush a suspected First Order camp, one that was said to be housing a handful of its leading officers. By all accounts, it was meant to be a fairly typical intelligence extraction and execution, except there would be no execution, as the General had placed a strict defense-only order on this mission, meaning you were not to strike an attack unless it was a defensive measure. Such an order left much to be answered, but from what you knew of war, it likely meant that General Organa couldn’t afford to lose the men. It also meant that whichever First Order officials were residing at this camp were not vital to its operation, for if they were, the next sunrise they would see would be from the top of wooden spikes.

The General’s briefing was not unlike many of her others. It was short and eloquent as always, but by the end of it, she was practically ordering the group out of the room, rather than her usual dismissal of telling everyone to get back to work. You, along with every other person involved in this operation, were left confused by her behavior, left to your imagination to fill in the gaps. It wasn’t long before gossip began to spread throughout the unit.

A misstep from your horse pulled you back to the present, prompting you to soothe her fright before she could make too much noise. It was imperative to the success of this ambush that none of your men—or their horses—made a sound.

After a few strokes down her spine and quiet, reassuring whispers, her pace steadied. You looked ahead for the signal from Commander Dameron that you were approaching the encampment, but in the hazy clearing, his presence had been reduced to a set of tracks left into the snow.

The festering dread in your gut became unbearable as you continued to trudge through the dark foliage, debating whether or not it would be appropriate to catch up to Commander Dameron and share your concerns. You could only imagine the lecture you would receive from the General if you strayed from the plan in any manner, but at the same time, you trusted your instinct. Something didn’t feel right.

The crunch of snow beneath hooves and the light rattle of armor were the only sounds that filled the air. That was until a scream pierced the night air, sending a chill colder than the snow down your spine.

Panic rose in your chest as your horse reared off the ground and spun wildly, frightened beyond your control. You tried to orient yourself in the darkness, scanning the white haze for your men, as well as your commander.

Another scream followed shortly after, along with a string of cries from the soldier’s horse. One final wail sliced through the air like a banshee cry, full of agony, before the world fell silent.

There was someone else—or something else—in these woods.

The soldiers behind you erupted in a cacophony of confusion, worry, and pleas to the gods for mercy. You steered your horse away from them, more concerned with Commander Dameron’s safety than theirs. As terrible as it seemed, soldiers were expendable, leadership was not. Besides, if you fell back to help them, your fate would be the same as theirs—bloody and mangled.

More anguished cries rang throughout the dark woods, following you as you rushed forward, whipping the reins to keep your pace.

“Commander? Commander?!” you shouted into the abyss of the night. You uttered a quiet prayer as you waited for his response.

The whisper of wind was all you received in return.

“COMMANDER!” you screamed, your throat burning from the wintry air as you cried out.

Nothing.

With bleary eyes, you continued to ride, dodging the brush and rogue branches hanging in your path. It was then that a horrible realization occurred to you. Aside from the sound of your shallow breaths and hooves stomping, the forest was utterly silent.

Your panic quickly transformed into terror. The sounds of slaughter that had been trailing you had ceased. Whatever had been hunting your men could now only be hunting you.

There was no time to waste. Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you unlatched your boots from the saddle and prepared to dismount your horse, hoping to be a smaller target on foot.

Before you could swing your leg over the saddle to jump down, an invisible blow struck the center of your chest, hurling you backwards through the air until you collided with the rough bark of a tall pine.

Bright spots filled your vision as you hit the frozen ground, gasping for air despite the ache spreading through your ribs. A high pitch rang in your ears as you pushed yourself up and staggered to your feet. The snow beneath you was stained red, and from the taste of copper in your mouth and the tender sore on your tongue, it was clear that you had bitten it during the fall.

Away from your sight, your horse neighed and reared wildly, galloping over the roots buried beneath the snow and snapping dry branches that covered her path. For a moment, you hoped that she was running towards you, that her senses would guide her back to you. But you were a fool.

The sound of ripping flesh and a final, harrowing cry from your horse resonated through the woods, followed by a heavy thud and a deafening silence.

You blinked the falling snowflakes away from your eyes as you stood there, rooted in the snow, trying to see which direction the midnight creature would attack from. Your heart was a few beats away from bursting through your chest, which would likely be a less painful death than what was to come.

The outline of a figure breached the snowfall, stalking towards you as you retreated on your heels, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through you.

As you reached for your sword, your limbs were frozen in place, as if your body had been wrapped in nonexistent restraints. Your breath caught in your throat. Resisting the energy proved futile, tiring your muscles and leaving you entirely defenseless. You watched in horror as the creature came into view.

“Was that you I heard calling for me, my dear?”

You could barely hear the question over the hammering of your pulse. The voice was low and brassy, and almost sounded amused. As it drew closer, you were surprised to find that the owner was not a bloodthirsty monster, but a man.

You lifted your chin and blinked back the tears that welled in your eyes, hoping to appear brave in the face of death.

“You certainly were difficult to catch,” he growled, stepping through the haze. “But the difficult ones always make for the best hunt.”

The man stepped into view, his dark armor a stark contrast to the backdrop of snowfall. In the drops of moonlight that spilled through the clouds, you could make out the details of his helmet—a haunting, black mask with silver ridges outlining the eye shield, gleaming in the waning light.

“What are you doing all the way up here, officer?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he raised a gloved hand to your face, his outstretched fingers nearly grazing your skin.

“I–” you began to say before you choked on your words. An excruciating pain split your skull, unlike anything you had experienced before. The sensation could only be compared to something found in nightmares, crafted in the fires of Hell for the most unabashed sinners. The tears you had fought to hold back finally spilled from your eyes, freezing as they rolled down your cheeks while the masked man rummaged through your mind.

“You’re a lieutenant,” he said quietly, his intrigue evident even through his helmet.

You didn’t try to deny his statement, all too aware that your rank was the only thing keeping you from suffering the same fate as the rest of your men.

“A woman as second-in-command…” He traced the back of his hand along your jaw, the smooth leather interrupting the stream of tears that ran from your eyes.

Slowly, he moved behind you, examining you how a butcher would inspect a lamb before the slaughter. Through the shield of his mask, you could feel his eyes roaming over you.

Acid bubbled in your throat as you stood there, helpless to the force that held you in place. The fate of your men seemed like salvation in comparison to what was likely awaiting you.

Would he take you prisoner? Would he violate you? How long would you suffer before succumbing to your inevitable fate?

Each thought piled onto the other as they raced through your head. You were grateful that he had released his grip on your mind, that your fears were known only to you.

Behind him, a handful of other men emerged from the night, standing in a tight formation behind their leader. The other parties responsible for the massacre of your men, you presumed.

“Sir, we were unable to locate the Commander,” one of the men informed him.

He moved closer behind you, pieces of his armor grazing yours. “Forget him. We have what we need.”

Before you could process his words, the energy around your limbs disappeared and you swayed, suddenly dizzy, like you had indulged in one too many glasses of wine. The edges of your vision blurred and despite wanting to kick your attacker and run as far as you could, your legs wouldn’t budge. The last thing you felt before darkness rushed in was a pair of strong arms wrapping around you as your body went slack, sealing your fate.

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