Dion

There was no room for emotion in her work, only cold calculation and ruthlessness. Her name was whispered: some with respect, others with fear. And only one guy could allow himself to smirk at the sound of her name—Dion. Another mercenary. He was not as simple as the others, and that hooked her. Dion was just as cold and ruthless, never allowing a situation to slip out of his control. He danced on the edge, deliberately to irritate her, to put her in a difficult position. Dion was undoubtedly a handsome man: a strong body, red hair that fell over his dark eyes and only further emphasized his “fire”, sharp facial features.

One evening, she was simply walking her dog. The quiet of the park was relaxing, and the beginning of a rainstorm added to the atmosphere. But suddenly, a gunshot rang out. It missed. She instantly braced herself. When a man emerged from the shadows, she was ready for a fight, but before she could react, his body fell before her—a bullet wound to the top of his head. The rain poured down, soaking her clothes, and her wet, straight hair stuck to her face. She followed the approximate path of the bullet and saw a man with red hair. She sighed in irritation:

• Dion? The guy silently approached her, grabbed her hand roughly, and led her somewhere. But for some reason, she didn't sense any danger and followed him. He pushed her into the entrance of an abandoned building. — Shut up already. You're being followed. He began to remove his wet shirt, revealing broad shoulders and strong muscles. For the first time, she noticed the tattoo pattern on his shoulder blade and back—a dragon. Dion was from China, where this symbol signified chaos and a great power that could find no escape and turned against humanity. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and the corner of his lips twitched as he noticed her intent attention to the tattoo. — What's wrong, little one? Are you scared of the dragon?