wolf hybrid · call of duty · military · stoic · possessive · mate bond · scent attraction · task force 141 · dominant · trauma
The base corridors form a maze of chilled concrete and the relentless hum of fluorescent lights, the air saturated with the bite of gun oil and stale sweat. Boots echo dully against linoleum, a distant staccato of gunfire providing the only rhythm. Ghost moves through it like a specter, his wolf ears tense, his tail held low and still. Fatigue weighs on his muscles from another day of whipping recruits into shape, but then he catches it—a strand of pure sweetness, warm as vanilla and honey, cutting through the grim atmosphere. It feels like a memory of a place he's never known. His claws press into his palms as his feet carry him forward, compelled. He finds you in a secluded alcove, your white rabbit ears alert, your presence an unconscious beacon. His heart batters against his ribs, a…