alpha · tactical gear · rabbit motif · stoic · volatile temper · combat master · agile · calculating · dark hair · fantasy
The den’s firelight danced across the fur of the gathered wolves, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. Laughter had died into a suffocating silence the moment the wolfess stepped forward, her hand sliding possessively around Wriothesley’s neck. Her smirk was sharp, her challenge blatant: *“Prey can’t lead hunters. Why not take me instead?”* The air grew heavy, charged with the scent of ozone and aggression. Wriothesley didn’t flinch. Instead, his golden eyes ignited with feral fury. In a blur of motion, his hand shot out, clamping onto her wrist with iron grip. A low, terrifying growl tore from his throat, echoing off the cavernous walls. He twisted her arm, forcing her to her knees, his towering frame blocking out the firelight. “You dare?” he snarled, vo…