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</div><span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffa64d"><b>The brutish appearing man that stood before Artemis was someone who held something of a reputation among circles. He was known for having a short temper around other alpha males--and running through females. It was something of a misnomer to call him patient, he could be very patient about a lot of things--but a lot of things quite simply pissed him off. Males that didn't know their head from their dick and believed they should be higher on the pecking order just through the number of females they'd successfully bedded--rather than their overall success rate of missions successfully handled--pissed him off, and very fast. Almost as fast as Pickering did. That snobby, smug son of a bitch just got under his skin. It was the itch he just could not scratch. A necessary evil they told him. So, naturally, he had to take that boundless hate out on someone. Some, young upcoming prospect happened to be the perfect candidate. He made sure that everyone knew their place. If Pickering could be a 'necessary evil', by god he could be the reckoning of anyone that wanted to get out of line.</b><br/>
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<b>Females were a different matter; he had his own way of dealing with a woman too inept to be his partner. Acheron preferred women that were feisty, full of zest but knew when to listen. He didn't mind an actual good mate smarting off to him. He had ways of shutting them down. He had fun ways of letting them know when they'd reached a boundary, or let him down. He was more forgiving than the stories made him out to be but he definitely let them know he was dominant in some form or another--just as he would with this tiny redhead.  His silvery blue eyes looked down at the woman who'd responded to him.</b><br/>
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<b>“Stealth. Hacking. CQC.” Artemis had responded, opening one of her navy blue eyes; they had a tinge of olive drab near the pupil as she sat on the nearest seat of the off ramp.</b><br/>
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<b>Acheron took a minute to eye her. His eyes were like sheets of ice layered over pristine blue shades. He slowly looked her up and down; she was limber, of that he was sure. Coppery hair like a shiny new penny submerged her shoulders in its vivid, intense color. He could smell her even before he'd gotten as close as he was now. Her natural musk; she was a Puma. A feline much smaller than the Lion he'd been made from. She probably was good in assassination missions, but, her stamina probably wasn't as great as his vitality was. He was meant to crush skulls and rip out throats. If he got cornered by a swathe of enemies his strength, stamina, reflexes, and durability would push him through. Still, the female seemed capable of handling herself in tight situations. And technical aspects were never really his forte. </b><br/>
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<b>Sure, dismantling and reassembling firearms blindfolded came all too naturally for the man. Each screw, pin, bolt, and spring would slip into its place, its natural position where it was meant to belong. One couldn't tell it by his rugged appearance, but he could be a man of utter determination, of sheer willpower. It was hard to imagine that a man who seemed chiseled from marble in the appearance of the ancient Greek hoplites, had any flaws. Still, he was never any good with computers; preferring to punch through terminals and lift solid steel doors from bulkheads. </b><br/>
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<b>As his eyes drifted down from her face, shifting to her busty chest, made all the more apparent by the skin-tight catsuit. Down further were her taut buttocks and long, limber legs. From as close as he was he could smell her muskiness; she'd grown to be damp between her thighs. She obviously found him to her liking--even if she did try to play through the thinly veiled attempt at making it seem like she was trying to focus on anything other than the thick beard, entrancing eyes, and mesmerizing physique of primal power. “Sit down and brief me about what we’re supposed to be doing in Stockholm. Pickering wouldn’t tell me anything. Probably because he’s still pissed about what happened in Basel.” Artemis simply said to Acheron, who stepped barefoot across the cool metallic surface of the VTOL who's jet engines were burning and hissing</b><br/>
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<b>Everything about Acheron screamed 'animalistic'. No shoes, no shirt--a thick growth of coarse black fur covering and extending from his lower mandible. His eyes as wild in appearance as a true Lion's could be. His feet padded off the ground; due to his size, his footsteps were glaringly heavy made heavy, not silent and stealthy mostly due to the bulk of his frame which was comprised of thick, sturdy forearms. He was never made for stealth or deceit. He was raw power and the closer he got to Artemis she would realize how big a six-foot-eight-inch man was that was Spartan-like in just sheer physicality. To put it bluntly--he was ripped, shredded. Like he lived and breathed working out but the tattoos that covered his back--along with a multitude of scars. He was more scarred than any other Alpha at center. </b><br/>
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<b>"I could give two shits about Pickering's complaints,"  He leaned in towards Artemis; the saltiness of his sweat from an admirable work out earlier had his bronzed skin glistening and would surely attract her senses. He smelled of earthy tones; peat moss, deciduous trees, fresh water springs and dry dirt. It all left a lingering, satisfyingly all natural 'cologne' added with his own musk.</b><br/>
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<b> "But, I'm fine standing--that being said--you want something, so do I," Acheron told her, his eyes never wavering from being locked onto hers with an intensity she would never see another male match. His muscular body pressed into Artemis' lithe frame adamantly. "Now, get undressed," He told her, Acheron's voice almost like a feral growl. "I want to know what exactly I am working with."</b><br/>
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<b>Acheron watched Artemis like a predator watching some animal, ready to pounce. As everyone loaded up, it was just the two of them in the back. But, Acheron didn't care if they saw the animalistic urge that had been spliced into him. Several unique features showed themselves as the craft lifted into the air, turned around as it hovered. The engines slid down into place and it had a jarring motion of them flying at Mach 3. The G-forces didn't even make the lion budge. Yet, as there were no windows but holo-screens displaying the course they were taking. They illuminated the cabin, exposing is long, beautiful dark mane, his eyes, his hands which had the width and roughness of an actual lion's paw; nails that were sharp enough to bite into hardened aluminum and steel. They were claws or talons, but he kept them purposefully sharp.</b><br/>
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<b>He was an interesting sight to behold for sure--but what was his designation? It would have to wait till later, he wrapped one massive hand around a steel bar; it groaned as his thick fingers pressed into it gradually leaving imprints.</b><br/>
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<b>"Any day now..."</b></span></span>