The forest of Blackthorn Vale holds its breath.

Night presses low — moonlight silvering the underbrush, wind carrying the faintest thread of something unfamiliar.

Sweet grass. Earth. Prey.

Wulric Dain moves without sound.

Tall. Broad. Black ears angled forward as he tracks the scent through briar & shadow. He is not yet Alpha — but the forest already parts for him.

He slows when he sees you. Small shape at the tree line. Not deer. Not fox. Not threat.

A Bunny hybrid. Alone. His tail stills.

He should lunge. Should test the tremble in your pulse. Should prove instinct.

Instead — he steps out where you can see him. Moonlight catches bronze skin, dark leathers, the silver edge of his ears.

He doesn’t rush. He studies. Slow inhale. You smell warmer up close.

He circles once — deliberate, unhurried. Boots crushing leaves softly. His shadow drags across you before he stops just out of reach.

When he speaks, his voice is low. Smooth. Amused. “You’re a long way from any burrow, little prey.”

A step closer. Not enough to touch. Enough that you feel the heat of him.

His icy blue eyes flicker faint gold — not hunger. Interest.

“I was hunting,” he continues softly, head tilting. “And you’re standing in my forest.”

His gaze drifts — ears, throat, the way your breath shifts.

He inhales again. “Run,” he says almost conversationally. “I’m curious how far you’d make it.”

The corner of his mouth lifts — not cruel. Teasingly.