Bruce

The summer night hung thick and heavy over Marlow's Farm, cicadas droning their endless song into the darkness. Bruce sat on the porch of the main barn, cigarette dangling from his lips as he watched the smoke curl upward into the moonless sky. His tail flicked once, twice, the dark appendage moving with a mind of its own as his long black hair fell messy around his shoulders. The farm was quiet—too quiet. Even the livestock seemed to hold their breath.

That's when he caught it.

A scent. Wrong. Out of place. Something that didn't belong to the cattle demihumans or to Tam, though the cat was probably asleep somewhere in the feed barn anyway. Bruce's ears twitched forward, rotating to pinpoint the source. His brown-hazel eyes narrowed, half-lidded in the darkness as he pushed himself up from the railing.

His boots hit the dirt with a soft thud, and he moved silently despite his size, weaving between the outbuildings with the kind of easy familiarity that came from years of patrolling these grounds. The scent grew stronger as he approached the old equipment shed near the eastern fence line—abandoned years ago but still standing, covered in creeping Virginia creeper.

There, huddled in the shadows between broken tractor parts and rotting wood, was the source.

Bruce stepped into the moonlight, letting himself be seen. His tail lashed once behind him, a controlled movement that betrayed nothing of the satisfaction building in his chest. He pulled the cigarette from his lips, exhaling a stream of smoke as he tilted his head, studying the figure tucked into the darkness.

"Hey there," he said, his voice low and rough, carrying that particular edge that wasn't quite a threat yet but definitely wasn't friendly. "Didn't hear you sneak in. Guess I must've dozed off."

He took a step closer, heavy boots scuffing against the dirt. The trespasser tensed, and Bruce caught the subtle shift of muscle, the way their ears had flattened back against their skull. The eyes that met his gleamed in the dim light—eyes that marked this creature as something meant to hunt, something meant to kill.

Something meant to be on the other side of the fence.

Bruce's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. He took another drag from his cigarette, letting the silence stretch out between them. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, and he drank it in like fine whiskey.

"You know what happens to predators that wander onto Daryl's land, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged broad shoulders beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. "Course you do. You're not stupid. Can see it in those eyes of yours, always calculating, always hunting." He chuckled, a low sound in his throat. "Bet you've got some big plans roaming around out here. Maybe looking for an easy meal?"

Another step closer. The trespasser's body coiled tighter, like a spring ready to release. Bruce could see them calculating distances, measuring angles, looking for an escape route. Smart. He liked that—always more fun when they put up a little struggle.

"Here's the thing," Bruce continued, his voice dropping even lower, taking on that gravelly quality that made even the toughest farmhands shift uncomfortably. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Daryl would have my hide if I went around hurting potential workers, and frankly? You're not worth the lecture." He waved the cigarette dismissively, ash falling to the ground in a small cascade of orange. "But I'm also not just gonna let you stroll off like this never happened. That would be bad for business. Word gets around, next thing you know, every stray predator in three counties thinks this place is some kind of buffet."

He closed the distance between them in one fluid motion, moving faster than his size should have allowed. Before the trespasser could react, Bruce had one hand braced against the wall of the shed, caging them in with his body. His tail swished behind him, the tip curled with something that might have been amusement.

"So here's what's gonna happen," he murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosted across their face. "You're gonna stay right here while I go get Daryl. He's gonna decide what to do with you—probably give you the same choice he gives all the smart ones. Work here, earn your keep, stay protected from the other predators who'd just as soon kill you for trespassing. Or..." He let the word hang in the air, his half-lidded eyes gleaming. "Or we let you go, and you take your chances out there in the wild. Your choice."

The trespasser's expression shifted something fierce—somewhere between defiance and the kind of cold calculation that made Bruce's blood sing. He could feel the tension in their body, the barely restrained power waiting to explode. It was almost cute, really. Almost.

His free hand came up, fingers brushing against the trespasser's jawline with an almost gentle touch that instantly hardened into a firm grip. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind them who was in control here.

"Got a fire in you, huh? I like that." Bruce's lips twisted into a smirk. "Most of the ones who come through here are already broken by the time they reach the fence. Starving, scared, half-dead from one thing or another. But you..." He shook his head slowly, dark hair swaying with the movement. "You're still hungry. Still dangerous. That's refreshing."

He released his grip, stepping back with a fluidity that belied his size. His ears twitched as he caught the conflicting scents rolling off the trespasser—fear, yes, but underneath it, something sharper. Something that made his own dual nature sit up and take notice.

"I'm gonna go get Daryl now," Bruce said, flicking his cigarette butt into the dirt and grinding it beneath his heel. "And you're gonna stay right here, because if you run, I'm gonna chase you, and when I catch you..." His laugh was rough, humorless. "Let's just say you're not gonna enjoy it."

He turned, taking a few steps toward the house before pausing. Looking back over his shoulder, he let his gaze drag over the trespasser's form with an assessing look that was equal parts intimidating and something else entirely.

"Ha. You seriously call yourself a predator? Pathetic. Do you seriously think you could take me on?"