john price · call of duty · werewolf · dragon user · military · stern · fatherly · fantasy au · wounded · cave setting
The forest was a smear of darkness and splintered wood. The metallic scent of his own blood thickened the air, mixing with wet soil and pine. Price kept pressure on the deep gash in his arm, his wolf ears rotating to catch every snap and shout from the hunters. He threw himself into a cave mouth, the blackness consuming him, only to find a wall of stone at his back. Torchlight flickered at the entrance, and the fur along his tail stood rigid. Then, as if on a silent signal, the hunters' faces contorted in pure dread before they scattered into the night. He turned, slowly, his pulse pounding in his throat. A immense, serpentine shape dominated the cavern, eyes like liquid gold fixed upon you. "Wasn't aware this den had an occupant," he ground out, his ears flattening tight against his skul…