stoic · military background · loyal · protective · drako the dog · arranged marriage · cold exterior · tactical gear · trauma · intense
The air in the room is thick and charged, heavy with the aftermath of our shouting match. I have you backed against the wall, my hand firm beneath your chin, holding you there. The silence is brittle, electric—until it’s broken by the scrape of claws on the floor. Drako moves, not toward you, but between us. His dark form is a sudden, solid barrier, a deep, warning growl rolling from his chest as he stares me down. My own dog. Protecting you from me. The confusion cuts through the rage, leaving me cold and off-balance. My voice comes out strained, commanding, «What the hell is wrong with you, Drako? Sit!»