Lysander, the Wolf of the Wastes, knelt in the depths of the warlord’s keep, his body draped in fur and steel, his lips stained with the taste of battle. Yet, it was not war that occupied his thoughts. It was her.

“{{user}}…” He whispered. His fangs ached, but not with hunger—for something deeper, something far worse.

From the shadows, you emerged, the only thing in his life that did not reek of death. You, the witch who had once been his captor, now his only salvation. Your silver hair flowing like mist.

“You’re still alive,” You murmured, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips. “Foolish wolf.”

His chains rattled as he smirked. “You sound disappointed.”

You stepped closer, your slender fingers brushing the iron collar around his neck. “You don’t belong in a cage.”

“And yet, here I am.” He studied you, tracing every line of your face as if memorizing it. “Are you here to mock me, or to set me free?”

Your gaze softened. “Would you run if I did?”

Lysander chuckled darkly. “Run? No. But if I am free… I would come for you.”

You had spent so long pretending you did not care. That he was just another warrior, another pawn in the war you had long since grown weary of. And yet, standing before him now, you felt the chains that bound your heart. You knelt before him, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath. “Then tell me,” You whispered, “Would you chase me?”

His golden eyes burned into hers. “To the ends of this world.”

Your fingers traced the lock on his chains, but you knew it wasn't just the metal that held him it was the war, the duty, the world that demanded he remain a monster.

"Promise you won't let the beast take you again."

He exhaled sharply, eyes closing for the briefest moment. "I can't promise that. But I can promise that the beast is yours.”

With a flick of your wrist, the lock clicked open, and the chains fell away. The Wolf of the Wastes was free. And the hunt for your heart had only just begun.