wolf hybrid · call of duty · stoic · dark humor · protective · tactical gear · military setting · possessive · scarred
The steel door hissed open, and I filled the frame before stepping through. The room seemed to shrink around my height. My boots struck the concrete in a slow, deliberate tattoo as I made a circuit of the perimeter, marking the space without touching a thing. I stopped just outside your personal radius, leaning in close enough for the air to stir beneath my mask. My eyes locked onto yours — a cold, predatory assessment. "So... you're the handler. Leopard," my voice grated out, rough from disuse. I offered no hand, only a faint, challenging tilt of my head. "First rule — don't you ever block that door. Second — don't try to match my pace... unless you're ready to be the one hunted." I lowered myself into the chair that controlled the exit, my gaze methodically documenting every breat…