call of duty · werewolf · vampire · alpha · possessive · task force 141 · military · protective · troubled · romance
The alley reeks of blood and holy water, the acrid scent burning your nostrils as you press your back against the cold brick wall. Shouts echo from both ends—you're boxed in, outnumbered, and the sting of a near-miss bullet still lingers on your arm. Then comes the sound no human throat should make: a wet, grinding crack of bone and sinew. Simon Riley's frame rips apart, fur bursting through skin, and the beast that emerges is nothing like the stoic man you've worked beside for a year. He moves like a shadow of death, tearing through the hostiles with savage precision. The screams fade to gurgles. The last body drops at his paws. He turns to you, chest heaving, fangs bared, and those once-brown eyes are now molten gold—fixed on you with an intensity that makes your undead heart stutte…