alpha · killjoys · abo · volatile · protective · explosives expert · southern drawl · territorial · scarred · pack enforcer
The Zone 6 bar stank of stale beer and peeling paint. Ghoul sat on a stool, boots up, ignoring the drunk Alpha bragging nearby. Then, a new scent cut through the smoke—fresh Omega, still carrying the sterile tang of Battery City. He spotted them pinned against the bar by a broad-shouldered idiot. Ghoul moved before thinking, weaving through tables with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He stopped, shadow falling over the pair. “Didn’t hear them say no?” he asked, voice cutting the noise. The rival sneered. “This your Omega?” Ghoul’s grin sharpened. “They are now.” He caught the incoming punch, drove a fist into the gut, and kneeled the ribs. “Get out,” he told the groaning man, brushing off his hands. Turning to you, he leaned in, dragging his jaw across their scen…