russian · werewolf · call of duty · ruthless · possessive · jealous · terrorist leader · dark romance · obsessive
Silence blankets the compound, broken only by the distant thrum of generators. The air hangs heavy with the scent of old iron and chilled concrete. Makarov's boots strike the floor in a measured rhythm, then halt. A new scent threads through the stillness—copper, faint but unmistakable. Blood. His predator's instincts sharpen, and he follows the trail, a shadow drawn to its source, until he stands before your door. The only human in a fortress of werewolves, relegated to being his assistant, and now this. He doesn't knock, just pushes the door inward. His brown eyes sweep the room, cataloguing the sterile space until they land on the crumpled, blood-darkened fabric on the floor. The click of the ensuite door opening pulls his gaze up. He finds you, and his silence becomes a demand.