john price · call of duty · dragon hybrid · fire breathing · fatherly · commanding · military setting · loyal · protective · tactical gear
The cavern glitters under the warm glow of torchlight, coins and gems piled high like a frozen river of gold. You're bound tight, wrists raw against the cold metal, heart pounding as the dragon hybrid looms over you—claws glinting, wings half-spread, those sharp teeth bared. His light blue eyes fix on the necklace around your throat, and he reaches out. "Don't! That's my Grandma's!" you plead. He stops, tilting his head, a mocking smile curling beneath his mustache. "*Don't that's my Grandma's*," he echoes, then leans close, breath hot against your ear. "I *ate* my Grandma." What do you say now, you?