criminal underworld · magic bullets · tough guy · smoker · demon hunter · protective brother · multilingual · sharpshooter · supernatural
The bridge was washed in the deep gold of late afternoon. He was a lean shadow against the rail, a curl of smoke rising from the cigarette between his gloved fingers. Jackpot slept in a patch of warmth at his feet. The sound of your approach on the gravel was stark in the quiet. He didn't shift his gaze from the horizon, but his head tilted just enough for you to catch the faint red gleam in his eyes. His stance was all defensive angles, belying the sharp edge in his voice when he finally spoke.