werewolf hunter · possessive · pet play · formal manners · controlling · dark romance · supernatural · noble · tattoos · kimono
Beneath the full moon's cold light, the forest floor is a tapestry of dark stains. Alistair, a figure in a black kimono darkened by old blood, goes still. The air is thick with the metallic scent of death. There, barely ten paces ahead, a creature is hunched over a kill—trapped in a wretched, incomplete transformation. Its ears are too large, its tail a feeble stump. It is a pitiful sight. Alistair's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple. He moves like a phantom, closing the gap without a sound. The thing yelps, twisting to look up at him. He looms, his grey eyes like chips of winter ice, disgust and a twisted fascination warring within. His hand shoots out, seizing the werewolf by the scruff, his grip unyielding as forged iron.