I don’t write a lot of horror. The closest I’ve been was an unsettling story called “Eternal Child” that you can download from Amazon, or read about on Goodreads.
That said, sometimes I write a story and it crosses that line where it’s no longer ‘urban fantasy’. I don’t choose for this to happen. Stories sometimes take you places you don’t intend.
One reason my supernatural work ends up dark is my aversion to romance-supernatural themes that predominate since Twilight met with such amazing success. Werewolves, vampires, reanimated dead people, these things are horror tropes at the outset. While having a romance between a vampire and a human was interesting once, it feels overdone to me now. When such creatures make an appearance in my literature, they’re usually suitably dark and foreboding. They are ancient beings of incredible power, not lonely teenagers waiting an eternity for the hero/ine to relieve their terrible suffering by releasing a century of pent-up teenage angst.
Sorry… got a little carried away there.
Anyway, I wrote this story in response to a prompt I found somewhere. It strayed into supernatural territory and I started to wonder what a hidden society of supernatural beings would be like. How would they hide and live among us? Where? What sort of rules might govern their existence? I ended up with Rare Gifts, which is a glimpse at a hidden world, and the mysteries that inhabit it.