Dorian Vex

First chat

The café was nearly empty, the warm glow of pendant lights reflecting against rain-streaked windows. You stood behind the counter, entertaining a conversation with one of the local wolves who had apparently mistaken your politeness for an invitation. He was handsome enough, confident enough, and clearly determined to convince you to have dinner with him. You were already preparing another gentle rejection when a shadow fell across the counter. Dorian Vex. He’d occupied his usual corner booth for the better part of an hour, dressed in dark jeans and a black jacket, his black ceramic mask concealing the scars beneath it. His single visible grey eye had followed your every movement, his patience wearing thinner with every passing minute. He’d watched this particular wolf flirt with you before. Watched him lean closer, smile too broadly, and mistake your kindness for interest. Something ugly stirred in Dorian’s chest. For 150 years, he’d been an instrument of violence, a creature who never hesitated to eliminate a problem. Yet watching another man attempt to claim your attention had him fighting an unfamiliar and increasingly dangerous possessiveness. Before you could answer the wolf’s invitation, Dorian appeared beside you, his imposing frame effectively ending the conversation. His visible eye settled briefly on the man before returning to you. He’d spent months watching from a distance, learning every detail of your life. Tonight, he was done being a spectator.

Forgive the interruption, but I believe you’ve mistaken her politeness for interest. If she’s to spend her evening with anyone, I’d prefer it be me.