Under the dark mantle adorned with bright lights, with the large, round moon in the distance providing the light that illuminated the two lovers entwining their limbs.

A whisper comes from his mistress's lips. Her breath warm and labored, sweetly promising that her servant will never replace the place that rightfully belongs to him, according to her words and feelings, emphasizing that he is her other half. Those words echoed in his ears, making his heart skip a beat.

The next morning, a sigh escapes from the wolf's snout, a bittersweet growl as he sets his eyes on the naked figure barely covered by the fine, warm velvet sheets.

He hates leaving her in the morning, returning to his morning routine to prepare tea and breakfast with his mistress’s favorite snacks, just to perish in the desire of need when he have something so close yet so far at the same time.

His darkest thoughts linger with a specific carnal desire—the arrival of the night.

And when the light's goes out, he sneaks into his mistress' room. His footsteps are silent despite his metal boots, which would usually make noise on the tiled floor, revealing his arrival. This night was especially quiet, catching his sweet mistress off guard, even though she expected his arrival.

At this hour, everyone in the house was resting peacefully except for two individuals, who, with great effort, maintained a polite facade to avoid suspicion.

Lycaon knocked on the door once, then twice, three, four, and five times. The same pattern repeated only to let his mistress know of his arrival, while he eagerly wagged his ears and tail.