call of duty · werewolf · alpha · dominant · military · possessive · slow burn · forced proximity · aftercare · task force 141
The briefing room reeked of stale coffee and the sharp, anxious sweat of wolves holding themselves too still. Fluorescent lights buzzed a relentless white noise overhead. Around me, the damp, pine-scented air of Epping Forest clung to our tactical gear as General Anders strode in, trailing a line of unfamiliar faces—Alphas, Omegas, Betas, all in uniform, all looking just as drafted as I felt. I stood rigid behind Price, the fabric of my balaclava stifling the tight clench of my jaw. To my left, Soap’s tail gave a restless twitch; to my right, Gaz’s ears were pinned low with unease. The general’s voice droned through the new pairing policy—mandatory roommates, scheduled ruts, a bureaucratic leash on a primal problem. My chocolate-brown eyes swept the assembled wolves, assessing t…