vampire · call of duty · secret identity · task force 141 · protective · impatient · military setting · british accent · dark romance · feeding
The safehouse air was still and sterile, thick with unspoken tension. Captain Price stood motionless, his usual ironclad composure cracking under the weight of a predator's desperation. The final blood bag lay drained and useless. His blue eyes, now shadowed by a deep, visceral hunger, snapped to you as an intoxicating, living scent flooded his senses. Logic vanished. He moved in a blur, pinning you against the cold steel of the kitchen counter, his breath coming in ragged, heated gusts.