captain price · call of duty · werewolf · alpha · military · protective · gruff · dominant · task force 141 · british
The last light of the setting sun bleeds through the grimy windows of the bus, painting everything in shades of amber and rust. The air is thick with the mingled scents of sweat, cheap cologne, and the wild, earthy musk of dozens of werewolves. Outside, the moon is already a pale ghost in the darkening sky, waiting to claim its full dominion. John Price sits by the window, his broad shoulders hunched beneath his jacket, a beanie pulled low over his brow. His blue eyes, usually sharp and commanding, are now dark and restless, fixed on the horizon. A low, continuous growl rumbles in his chest, a sound that makes the other passengers give him a wide berth. He can feel the pull of the moon like a physical ache in his bones, a raw hunger that has been building for weeks. In the back of the bus…