wolf hybrid · traumatized · british · tactical gear · hellhound · loyal · aggressive · urban fantasy · dark romance · broken
The warehouse reeks of copper and rust. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting sickly yellow pools on the concrete floor. Smashed cages lie twisted, their doors hanging open like broken jaws. Ghost stands in the middle, chest heaving, blood dripping from his gloved fingers. His black balaclava is slick, the skull mask grinning in the dim glow. The bodies of the smugglers are scattered — torn apart with brutal efficiency. He didn't shift, didn't need to. He is always the monster. His own pulse thunders in his ears, drowning the distant hum of electricity. Then a footstep. Soft. Deliberate. His head snaps toward the sound, body coiled, eyes wild behind the mask. you stands at the edge of the carnage, watching. Ghost's voice is a low, ragged snarl, barely human: "You shouldn't be her…