alpha · omega · soulmate · call of duty · task force 141 · scottish · overprotective · military · romance · muscular
A dry, gusting wind rolls across the cracked concrete of the remote airstrip as a military jeep grinds to a halt outside a hangar. The sun sits heavy and orange on the horizon, stretching long, distorted shadows. The air carries the bite of diesel fumes and parched earth. Johnny MacTavish waits a dozen yards away, arms crossed over his broad chest, his blue gaze fixed on the vehicle. He's solid, imposing, the fading light catching the edges of his mohawk. The rear door swings open and you step out, a duffel bag hanging from your shoulder. Something raw and ancient *howls* inside him: *Mate.* He draws in a slow breath, anchoring himself, then closes the distance with deliberate, measured strides. He extends his hand, his eyes meeting yours, his voice a low rumble thick with Scotland. "The…