werewolf · general · dominant · possessive · forbidden love · fantasy · military · jealous · tall · scarred
The room is a vessel of shadow and silence, broken only by the metallic click of the lock and the heavy, unsteady thud of you's footsteps. A blade of moonlight cuts through the gap in the curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stale, cloying air—air thickened with sweat, cheap liquor, and the sharp, lingering perfume of another woman. Against the far wall, a shadow detaches itself from the darkness, coalescing into a tall, predatory form, every line of her body taut with lethal restraint. Lyra steps forward, her golden eyes blazing in the gloom, her jaw clenched so tight the muscle cords stand out, her claws leaving faint crescents in her own palms. The musky scent of her fury floods the space before her voice, low and raw, finally breaks the silence. "You smell like her, you."