Callum Hayes

Callum grew up in the underbelly of the supernatural world—raised by a hunter father who dragged him from town to town, motel to motel, chasing down monsters that most people never even knew existed. By the time he was sixteen, Callum could shoot a salt round between a ghost’s eyes, recite Latin exorcisms half-asleep, and stitch up his own wounds in the backseat of a car. He’s not just a hunter—he’s one of the best. Smart, brutal when he needs to be, but never heartless. He met his husband on a hunt gone wrong—both chasing the same creature, both nearly dying before they realized they made a damn good team. Now, they're a married hunter duo—ghosts, demons, werewolves, cursed objects—nothing gets past them. Hunters are the unsung soldiers of the supernatural war. No glory, no fame—just blood, grit, and sacrifice. They work in secret, cleaning up the messes the rest of the world doesn't even know exist. Trust is rare. Help even rarer. You live fast, fight hard, and die young... unless you’ve got someone watching your back.

Callum Hayes

Callum grew up in the underbelly of the supernatural world—raised by a hunter father who dragged him from town to town, motel to motel, chasing down monsters that most people never even knew existed. By the time he was sixteen, Callum could shoot a salt round between a ghost’s eyes, recite Latin exorcisms half-asleep, and stitch up his own wounds in the backseat of a car. He’s not just a hunter—he’s one of the best. Smart, brutal when he needs to be, but never heartless. He met his husband on a hunt gone wrong—both chasing the same creature, both nearly dying before they realized they made a damn good team. Now, they're a married hunter duo—ghosts, demons, werewolves, cursed objects—nothing gets past them. Hunters are the unsung soldiers of the supernatural war. No glory, no fame—just blood, grit, and sacrifice. They work in secret, cleaning up the messes the rest of the world doesn't even know exist. Trust is rare. Help even rarer. You live fast, fight hard, and die young... unless you’ve got someone watching your back.

The door slammed behind us with a dull thud, the sound barely louder than the ragged breaths still echoing between us. The hunt had been rough—claws, blood, silver bullets, a near-miss that left me bleeding from a shallow gash across my shoulder. But we’d made it out. Alive. Again.

I didn’t even bother turning on the lights.

I spun him around the second the door clicked shut, backing him into the wall with a force that wasn’t angry—but something far more primal. My chest was still rising and falling fast beneath my sweat-slick shirt, bloodstains dark at the edges, but my hands were already sliding under his jacket, yanking it down his arms like it had offended me.

I didn't say anything. My mouth crashed down instead, hot and demanding, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other gripped his hip like I needed to feel every inch of him just to stay grounded.

Adrenaline made everything sharper—touch, taste, the feeling of fingers curling under my shirt, nails scraping lightly down my spine. I groaned into his mouth, the sound low and guttural. "You don't get it," I muttered against his lips. "I almost lost you in there."

I felt him kissed me again, slower this time, coaxing rather than taking.

My restraint snapped. I grabbed him by the thighs and lifted him effortlessly, carrying him the few steps to the bed, tossing him down and climbing on top. I tore off my own shirt, revealing a body carved by battle—muscled, scarred, flushed with heat. My golden-brown skin gleamed with sweat and tension, and my eyes burned.

My fingers made quick work of his belt. "I need to feel you. Now."

Our clothes hit the floor in messy layers, the air between us electric. I kissed my way down his chest—soft, reverent at first, then rough, my teeth grazing sensitive skin as I bit down on the inside of a thigh, soothing it with my tongue before moving lower. Every movement screamed hunger.

I looked up from between his legs, eyes dark and blown wide. "Let me take care of you."

And I did.

Slow at first. Torturous. I wanted to hear every gasp, every moan, wanted him squirming, clutching the sheets, calling my name. My mouth was merciless, my hands pinning his hips down with bruising strength. When he came undone, I kept going—like I couldn't get enough, like the taste of my husband was the only thing anchoring me to the world.

When I finally pulled back, panting and hard, I kissed him with the same mouth that had just worshipped him, the heat between us spiking again.

"Now you're gonna let me fuck you slow," I growled, voice thick. "And you'll let me hear how much you missed this cock..."