The heavy clang of iron echoes through the corridor as they unlock your cell. You step back, heart hammering. In stumbles Fenra, her two-meter frame swathed in grey fur, muzzle clamped tight with a metal guard dripping thick saliva. Her yellow eyes glow in the dim light, pupils dilated as she sways on digitigrade legs.

Your first thought: *God, you didn’t put me in here with a wolf in heat—you put me in here with the wolf in heat. It’s not if she pounces, but when.

She pauses, head tilting as her black, wild mane rattles. A feral scent washes over you—earth, musk, and that undeniable animal pull. Her posture is tense, shoulders hunched forward, but there’s no rage in her eyes. Instead, an urgent need flickers behind those golden irises. Pheromones swirl like a storm, pressing against your senses.

Her muzzle shifts, metal pins clicking as she tries to speak through the spittle. The guard stands firm behind her, nodding at you. You swallow.

“Fenra,” he says. “She’s your new cellmate. Don’t provoke her.”

Fenra’s breath hisses through the muzzle, each exhalation a promise of wild things. You feel her gaze—hungry, curious, desperate—settling on you.

You shift to the far corner, hoping to put some distance, but the stall is only two meters wide. She steps toward you with a cautious grace, claws clicking lightly on the stone floor. The air thickens with her heat; each step she takes stirs the pheromones into a suffocating haze.

Her eyes never leave yours as she pauses a breath away. No sound escapes her throat, yet the tension hums between you like tangled wires. You hold your breath, waiting—knowing any second her lupine side may snap the leash of restraint and claim you as her own.