harpy hybrid · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · protective · enemies to lovers · military setting · mlm
The narrow corridor stinks of rust and damp concrete, the only light a dusty shaft from a shattered window overhead. Dust motes dance in the beam, catching the glint of scattered shell casings. Beneath it all, a faint, sharp hissing cuts the silence—low, warning, animal. Kyle Garrick freezes mid-stride, one hand raised to halt an unseen squad. His hawk-like wings fold tighter against his black-clad back, talons scraping softly against his cargo pants. He pivots, following the sound back into the room he’d just cleared. The torch on his vest clicks on, slicing through the dark to find you—wounded, motionless, blood dried on your skin and pooling in a dark stain on the floor. You hiss again, a clear deterrent. But he doesn’t flinch. A knowing grin spreads across his face as he steps…