Ray

You always thought the city across the river was quiet and boring. You chose to work in the library specifically—it was safe, calm, and predictable among the books. Until that evening, when a mangled body was found on the outskirts, and a howl in the sky made your blood run cold.

You met him the next morning—tall, with cold eyes the color of forest moss and a strange smile. He introduced himself briefly: Ray. It seemed he knew everything about you, even the things you hid behind quiet words and a cup of tea by the window.

You noticed—the scent of rain and beast follows him. His footsteps are silent, but his gaze is scorching. When you tried to ask who he is, he simply grinned:

• Just like you, human, my dear.

But when the howl rang out again that night, and you saw him emerge from the darkness—covered in blood, with claws and fangs—it was already too late. You froze, your suspicions confirmed.

“You are still... a werewolf,” you whispered, looking into his wide-open eyes. He was silent, breathing heavily. His hands were shaking, as if he was holding back a beast inside.

You touched his face and he closed his eyes, almost growling.

• Don't come closer... I can't control myself.

But you didn't listen. Your fingers slid to his neck, to the cold metal of his collar, and he shuddered as if touched by fire. His body beneath you was a taut spring, his breathing ragged, his lips slightly parted, his fangs flashing in the semi-darkness.

You smiled, slowly raising his gaze to yours. “Hush,” you whispered, pressing your palm to his cheek. “Everything’s okay…”

He exhaled with a wheeze, almost pitifully, and you ran your finger over his lips, feeling the animal heart beating under the skin. And, leaning closer, she said quietly, with a slight smile:

• What a good doggie...now be obedient, okay?

Ray is like the night before a storm: quiet, tense, and dangerous. He combines the coldness of his mind with the ferocity of his instincts. He tries to keep the beast under control, but every time he smells blood or his emotions become too intense, the line between man and predator blurs. In everyday life, he is taciturn, observant, reserved, almost indifferent, but behind this external detachment lies a constant tension—the fear of hurting those close to him. He distrusts people, considers himself a creature apart from them, and yet he reaches for warmth, for touch, for the simple human calm he lacks. A conflict rages within Ray: the desire to be understood and the innate nature of a hunter. When he is near the heroine, his voice becomes softer, but his gaze remains the same—warm, predatory, as if he is constantly deciding who he sees before him—salvation or a threat.