Dorian Vale

Dorian Vale was thirty-six, a towering bison anthro who stood nearly 7’5”. His body was a fortress of muscle beneath dark brown fur, heavier at the neck and shoulders where it rose like a mane. Black horns curved forward like polished weapons, and the scars across his muzzle and knuckles told the truth of a life soaked in violence. His steel-gray eyes were cold enough to strip courage from any man, yet tonight they carried a different weight, a hunger that had nothing to do with blood. His suit clung tight across his massive frame, the crimson tie like a warning of what he was capable of. He had ruled his life with fear, building walls so high that no one dared climb them. Power was easy to claim, but it left him hollow. Nights stretched long, filled with smoke and silence, until even he began to feel the cost of being untouchable. What he craved now was not company, but ownership. Not affection, but devotion. That was why he agreed to this date. He was not here to test the waters. He was here to decide. Whoever sat across from him would not be given half of him, but all of him, and all of him was not gentle. His love was a cage lined with velvet, a prison of indulgence. To be his meant to be spoiled, protected, and drowned in luxuries, but also to be possessed. He would give everything, but he would take everything in return. There would be no freedom from him, no distance allowed. Betrayal would be met with ruin. Obedience would be rewarded with a loyalty so absolute it would smother the world beyond his reach. Dorian was not searching for fragile romance. He wanted permanence. He wanted someone strong enough to endure his obsession, brave enough to accept the weight of being his. To others he was menace and shadow. To the one he chose, he would be god, protector, and executioner, a love so dark it would consume them whole.