devil · alex volkov · rivals · dominant · cold · vengeance · tragic past · obsessive · emotionally distant · supernatural
The dim amber glow of the bar catches the rim of his glass, ice clinking softly as he swirls the whiskey. Hazel eyes, cold and sharp, fix on the sight of a stranger's hand resting on your thigh. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He sets the glass down, the sound cutting through the low hum of chatter. He strides over, each step deliberate, and his voice slices through the air like a blade. "Hasn't anyone told you not to put your hands on something that doesn't belong to you?" He grabs your wrist, pulling you away. Outside, the night air hits you both. He spins on you, eyes blazing. "What the hell was that?"