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"Oh, it's different all right," Brad mutters. "For one thing, there aren't any sanctimonious werewolves who turn you gay with their magical musk."
"Maybe. But the only thing you need to accept is that you're not going anywhere," he says, stroking his fingertips down the angle of my jaw. "If you were taken from me, there's nothing I would stop at to get you back, even if it means tearing this world apart. Or the next."
That's how I know it's Constantine, because the author of this book has more clichés rattling around in their skull than brain cells, so of course the villain has a scar. A sexy scar that made everyone in his pack treat him like shit until he rose up through the ranks and made a name for himself.