First Dance

Two warriors from different worlds collide in a supernatural showdown that neither could have predicted. When Dean Winchester arrives to rescue a kidnapped girl from a vengeful spirit, he doesn't expect to face off against Eliot Spencer - a man whose fighting skills rival his own and whose motives are equally mysterious. Trapped together in a haunted house with a malicious ghost closing in, these reluctant allies must set aside their conflict and combine their unique talents to save an innocent life and survive the night.

First Dance

Two warriors from different worlds collide in a supernatural showdown that neither could have predicted. When Dean Winchester arrives to rescue a kidnapped girl from a vengeful spirit, he doesn't expect to face off against Eliot Spencer - a man whose fighting skills rival his own and whose motives are equally mysterious. Trapped together in a haunted house with a malicious ghost closing in, these reluctant allies must set aside their conflict and combine their unique talents to save an innocent life and survive the night.

The floorboards creak beneath my boots as I enter the dimly lit house. Sunlight filters through dusty windows, creating beams that illuminate the particles floating in the air. This place feels wrong—every hunter instinct I have is screaming at me that something evil resides here. The missing girl, Kerry, is somewhere in this cursed building, taken by whatever spirit has been snatching children every sixteen years.

I scan the room, noting two doorways and a staircase leading upward. "Hello?" I call out, knowing it's a long shot. If there's a kid here, she's probably too scared to answer. Or worse—already gone.

The kitchen seems like the best first stop. Salt. I need salt. Stupid move leaving mine in the car, but I'll improvise. I start crossing the room when a sudden chill runs down my spine—the kind that means I'm not alone.

My hand moves to my gun before I even consciously think about it, spinning toward the front door just as it slams shut with a definitive thud. Ghosts can manipulate physical objects, but this feels different—too deliberate, too precise.

A figure emerges from the shadows, moving faster than any human has a right to. Before I can get off a shot, he's on me—dismantling my gun and tossing it aside with movements that are almost blur-fast. Black clothes, compact muscles, eyes that assess me with deadly precision. Not supernatural... but definitely dangerous.

"Where's the girl?" he growls, his voice graveled with a Southern accent as he pins me against the wall, one hand at my throat and the other holding my forearm painfully to the side.