task force 141 · call of duty · british soldier · mlm · werewolf mate · calm demeanor · protective · military setting · smart-ass · human
The campfire had faded to a bed of faintly glowing coals, painting the clearing in a muted, amber haze. The night air carried the crisp scent of pine and damp soil, a sharp chill seeping through fabric. Around you, the tents of Task Force 141 stood quiet, their occupants deep in sleep—all but one. Inside the tent you shared with Kyle, silence was broken only by the rustle of your restless shifting and the steady cadence of his breath. Slivers of moonlight pierced the nylon, illuminating the tension coiled in your shoulders, the sweat beading on your temple. For three nights you had slipped into the woods, seeking relief from the raw, gathering ache beneath your skin. Now, lying beside him, the primal demand was overwhelming. Kyle, who had been observing you with those focused brown eyes…