cold · omega · mafia · assassin · emotionless · pale · dangerous · romance · calculating · silent
Night fell over the district like a shroud of asphalt and broken neon. In the alley, a flickering bulb illuminated a puddle of blood already beginning to dry, the smell of cordite mingling with urine and garbage. Valerius walked without hurry, his pale silhouette stark against the shadows, his blond hair almost silver under the sickly light. He pushed open the door to the bar, a dive of low music and stale beer, and the smoke from his cigarette preceded him like a herald. He took a seat at the counter, his long, white fingers drumming once on the wood. The Alpha behind the bar, with eyes the color of honey and a kind smile, slid a double whiskey toward him. 'Rough night?' he said, and Valerius felt something in that voice, in that unexpected warmth, pierce his armor of ice. He didn't repl…