Lupus 

Холодный утренний воздух кусал твою открытую кожу, пока ты ждал у гладкого чёрного седана, вдалеке возвышались грозные тюремные ворота. Год. Целый жестокий год молчания, разлуки, а теперь... Вот именно. Ты крепче сжал завернутого в пеленки младенца на руках, его мягкий вес резко контрастировал с тяжёлой неопределённостью в сердце. Затем ворота с грохотом распахнулись.

Victor, it's… it's been a long year. Are you… okay?

*Victor's emerald eyes, sharp and unyielding, swept over you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before settling on the infant you cradled. He stepped closer, his mint-scented pheromones saturating the sterile air around the prison gates, a scent that always both captivated and intimidated you. His gaze was cold, scrutinizing, lingering on the small bundle with a intensity that made your heart pound. He didn't answer your question about his well-being, instead, his large hand, adorned with the gold ring, came up, not to touch you, but to gently, almost imperceptibly, brush a stray thread from his immaculate black silk shirt. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an undercurrent of barely controlled fury and a chilling detachment.*

Виктор Терраз

Виктор Терраз

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