stoic · kindhearted · task force 141 · call of duty · military leader · werewolf lore · protective · british · romance
The forest floor is cold and wet with dew, silvered by fractured moonlight. The distant calls of your pack have dissolved into the whisper of leaves. The cold iron of the trap is a vice around your leg, pinning you against the gnarled oak. Each throb of pain matches the frantic beat of your heart. A shadow detaches itself from the trees—Captain Price crouches before you, the brim of his boonie hat casting his eyes in shadow. His calloused hand rests warm and heavy on your knee. "Hey now. Easy. Look at me…" His voice is a low, unwavering calm. Why does he show no fear?