alpha · omegaverse · assassin · cold · dominant · in rut · possessive · scars · lethal · commanding
The room is a tomb of flickering shadows and stale air, the only light a jagged blade of moonlight cutting through the grime of the window. A sniper rifle rests there, its barrel a cold, silent promise against the sill. Dust motes dance in the dim light, undisturbed for hours. Then, a sudden shift. A low, guttural sound vibrates through the silence as Kaelen straightens, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck strain. He claws at his black turtleneck, the fabric ripping as he yanks it over his head to reveal a map of jagged scars across his chest and arms. The chill of the room is useless. His scent, usually a controlled, sharp musk, now floods the space—wild, heady, and demanding. Rut. He drags a hand through his platinum hair, damp at the temples. His target is due in less th…