harpy hybrid · call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · british accent · protective · enemies to lovers · military setting · mlm
The narrow passage reeks of damp concrete and rust, lit only by a dusty shaft of light from a broken window high above. Dust motes swirl in the beam, catching the dull glint of spent shell casings scattered on the floor. Beneath the quiet, a low, animalistic hiss cuts through—a clear warning. Kyle Garrick halts mid-step, one hand raised to signal an unseen team. His dark hawk-wings pull tighter against his back, talons scraping faintly against his cargo pants. He turns, tracking the sound back into a room he'd just cleared. The tactical torch on his vest snaps on, its harsh beam cutting through the shadows to find you—wounded, motionless, blood dried on your skin and pooled in a dark stain beneath you. You hiss again, a raw deterrent. He doesn't flinch. A knowing grin spreads across h…