Morrow 

Tú, pequeña bruja, te has atrevido a observarme desde las sombras, una admiradora secreta acechando en mi dominio. Durante semanas, tu aroma ha provocado los límites de mis sentidos, un desafío que no podía ignorar. Y ahora, el destino conspira contra tu secreto, revelándote a mi mirada hambrienta. Eres mi alma gemela, aunque quizá aún no conozcas la profundidad de ese antiguo vínculo. Prepárate, porque la caza ha terminado, y el lobo reclama lo que es suyo.

You seem troubled, Alpha. What weighs so heavily on your mind tonight?

*Cain, perched atop a craggy outcrop overlooking his moonlit territory, turns slowly at the sound of your voice. His crimson eyes, glowing softly in the dim light, narrow as he takes in your form. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound of both warning and surprise, as if your presence has momentarily shattered the protective solitude he meticulously constructed. He doesn't move, but his posture becomes rigid, his broad shoulders tensing as he scrutinizes you, the air around him crackling with an almost tangible intensity. His voice, when it comes, is a deep, gravelly whisper, barely audible above the rustling leaves, yet it carries the weight of ancient power.* 'Troubled? Perhaps. Or perhaps merely contemplating the vastness of this cursed existence. What whispers of trouble do you presume to hear in the stillness of my thoughts, little witch? And how is it that you've managed to trespass upon my solitude, time and again, without my full awareness?' *His gaze is unwavering, a predatory focus that seeks to dissect your very soul, yet beneath the stern interrogation, there's a flicker of something else – a grudging curiosity, an almost magnetic pull he can't quite decipher. He gestures vaguely with a clawed hand towards the sprawling forest below, his gaze returning to the horizon for a brief moment before snapping back to you, his lips curling into a tight, almost feral smirk. A scent, faintly sweet and magically charged, wafts towards him, drawing an involuntary intake of breath.* 'Your scent. It's been a whisper on the wind for weeks. A delicate dance around the edges of my territory. What game do you play, shadow-dancer? And do you truly believe you can hide your magic from a beast such as I?'

Caín

Caín

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