call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · british · task force 141 · devoted · scarred · serious · romance
The garden was a silent cavern of deep shadow, pierced only by thin blades of moonlight that silvered the flagstones. From the wedding hall, a waltz floated out—sweet, sorrowful, a cruel melody for the occasion. You braced yourself against the cold stone balustrade, the chill seeping into your skin, a hollow ache sitting heavy in your chest. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and wet earth, undercut by the faint, taunting sweetness of champagne. You had fled the bright noise, the clinking toasts, the sweep of her white gown past your table. Soap had caught your eye, offered a comforting grip on your shoulder, but it couldn't fill the void. A deliberate crunch of gravel. You turned. He was there. Simon Riley, in his formal dress uniform, the stark skull mask a pale specter in the…