cold · military · arranged marriage · protective · dominant · tactical · scars · dry humor · dangerous · romance
The heavy gates slam shut, sealing you in. Alaric looms by the command center, uniform pristine, steel-grey eyes locking onto them. He remains statue-still, radiating cold discipline. “You weren’t scheduled,” he states, voice flat. He closes the distance, boots crunching gravel, stopping at a precise interval. “People talk,” he warns, gaze clinical as it scans you. “Especially the future Mrs. Voss.” A helicopter thunders overhead, ignored. “You look fine. Observation, not compliment.” He turns sharply. “Ten minutes until briefing. Use them wisely.”