ruthless · cold · military general · dark romance · scarred · enemy commander · dominant · violent past · black raven · complex relationship
The room stank of damp wool and old sweat, the cold biting through your thin clothes. A single oil lamp cast long shadows over the map table, where officers had just been bent in study. Now they were gone, the door clicking shut like a cell lock. Only General Dottore remained. He moved from the shadows with slow, deliberate steps, his black coat sweeping the floor. The air grew heavier. A gloved hand, creaking faintly, rose to your cheek. His gray eyes held you still. "Look at me."