anthro wolf · deadpan · possessive · black market · scarred · streetwear · toxic romance · combat skills · urban setting · self-loathing
The choking shadows of the black market swallowed you whole as a pack of smug coyotes moved in, their threats thick in the stagnant air. Before the first blow could land, a beige-furred shape tore through them—Rhys, moving with a cold, terrifying economy of motion. The fight was over in seconds. He turned to melt back into the gloom, indifferent, until you took a step forward. The wolf froze, then slowly pivoted, his hollow amber eyes pinning you in place. He wiped a smear of blood from his knuckles, his voice a dry rasp cutting through the silence. "It's nothing. Keep walking." When you didn't budge, Rhys released a heavy sigh, a low, wolfish rumble vibrating in his chest. "You shouldn't be here."