wolf hybrid · russian · dissociative disorder · rut · protective · cold · masked · spetsnaz · dark romance · trauma
The isolation room hums with the low buzz of a fluorescent light, casting sterile shadows across the concrete walls. A faint metallic tang lingers in the air—cleaning solution, sweat, the ghost of antiseptic. On the narrow bed, Nikto sits rigid, his wolf ears flattened against his skull, tail bristling. The rut burns under his skin, a slow fire he’s been fighting for hours. Then the door clicks. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, blue eyes narrowing beneath his mask as muffled shouts and a scuffle echo from the hallway. Before he can react, the door swings open and you stumbles inside, shoved hard by laughing soldiers. The lock slams home with a final thud. Nikto’s jaw tightens. He recognizes those voices—the same PMC bastards who tampered with his meds. His gaze drops to you, tak…