Cole Ariadne had held faith for a dawn that never came. He had endured his skin crawling as every pore of it felt like it was being pierced by thousands of needles. Every time he closed his eyes, his blood pounded through his veins. Living became a duty to him for his people – as nightmares plagued his sleep, pain veiled him in his wake.

　　Indeed, the new world after destiny and the time were cursed, Siobhan offered countless ways to die. But this world only offered him one way to live: to plunder.

　　Bathe with blood and the stench of death, Cole was lost to the void. No hope and no salvation.

　　Or so he thought.

　　The moment a pale, soft hand touched his ashen cheek, Cole flinched. Snapped from his reverie, his gaze met a pair of eyes beneath him – filled with golden specks. Every fiber of his being wanted to lean more onto her palm as the throbbing ache in his head dissipated. The hollow veil of malediction untangled after years and years of enduring as if it was a part of him.

　　It was as if Cole stepped into a meadow with a welcoming spring breeze. His windpipe now filled with a breath of fresh air, blowing the tendrils of his neck-length hair. The smell of roses permeated his every pore, erasing any lingering ache in his system. It was an addicting feeling.

　　'Roses?' Cole's last string of self-consciousness snarled at the back of his mind, reminding him of who she was – a woman from the race he loathed the most. Nothing more and nothing less.

　　The tremble against his skin intensified when he snarled, yet she did not move. Eyes dilated, the Spring Nymph below him refused to avert her eyes.

　　"You're one brave nymph, are you not, little lamb?" Arms caged her from escaping while his knees locked her thighs from moving an ounce; she was entirely at Cole's mercy. A corner of the alpha's lips curled up upon hearing her frantic little heartbeat. Cole continued; his gaze remained locked with a set of wavering amber ones. "You dare to heal me with your filthy magic."

　　"Let go of yer anger, dear wolf. It does not serve ye well," said the Spring Nymph. Her hand caressed the bags under his eyes. "This filthy magic made ye sleep like a baby."

　　Cole bolted away from the Spring Nymph as if her words were poisoned – as if sharing the very air they breathed could kill him. On cue, the thousands of pricking pains came back with full vengeance. The void veiled him once more upon losing the close proximity of the being he loathed the most.

　　Standing against the wall, he watched the Spring Nymph sit on her bed with a critical gaze. "D-Did you curse me, little lamb, or should I say, little witchling?"

　　The Spring Nymph stood up as she fixed her wheat-colored hair. "The name is Vashati, dear wolf. Not a lamb, neither a witchling. This one healed ye three days ago when a group of strigoi strayed within my homeland." She rummaged her shelf for a pair of mortar and pestle. Her back was against him, showing him her pretty little neck – so delicate and easy to snap.

　　A single brow rose upon observing the nonchalant attitude of the Spring Nymph he just threatened. Was he becoming rusty after being poisoned? Was this a mere side effect of what transpired during the Hollow Fields Festival? He wanted to believe so, for there was no more logical reason he was hesitating in the face of his nemesis. No council would detain him should he snap the nymph's pretty little neck. After all, the Spring Nymph Clan was annihilated centuries ago to avoid the Queen of Blood and Bloom's revival.

　　Cole closed the distance between him and the nymph, Vashati. He loomed over her petite form as he stood behind her. Canines protruding, his nose smelled the rosy scent which elicited a hazy need in his core again. Hunching down, his lips touched the tip of her right pointy and reddened ear. "What do you want me to say, little lamb? Thank you? I owe you my damned life?" A grin spread from his lips upon hearing her gasp. And so, he probed deeper, wanting to see how the nymph would react from his ministrations. Cole's clawed hands held her waist as his claws traced her flimsy wool-made skirt that covered half of her milky thighs. "Or do you want me on my knees? Like this."

　　VASHATI COULD NOT help but gasp and gasp more when the unnamed werewolf flipped her, which made her drop her mortar and pestle on the ground. Eyes dilated, her wavering eyes witnessed how the tall and lean werewolf smirked before he dropped his first kiss on her inner right leg. Though he was kneeling before her, why did it feel like he was still the predator?

　　Gone was the feral gleam from his amethyst eyes that reminded her of the beautiful gems in the Lone Mountain. Gone was his display of intimidation. But why did it feel as if she was in danger now more than ever? The gleam beneath his gaze was cannibalistic – as if he was aiming to eat her alive.

　　'Wait! Is he not a werewolf? Or is he hidin' his true identity, but he is indeed a member of the Strigoi Race?' Vashati exclaimed at the back of her mind, her face losing colors – or so she thought.

　　"W-What... What are ye doin'?" On instinct, Vashati reached down to push him. "Oh!"

　　Vashati's hands held the shelf behind her for dear life when the smirking raven-haired werewolf pulled her legs from the ground before placing them on his firm and bare shoulders. Legs spread; heat crept to her freckled cheeks, eliciting a cherry red blush on it as her golden eyes gleamed.

　　"Let go of me, y-ye rogue!" Vashati cried as she tilted her chin up. Eyes closed, all she could do was bit her lower lip to stop the need to moan and scratch her surroundings as the werewolf's tongue traced her inner thighs.

　　"Damnation! You are quite addicting, little lamb," said the insolent rogue. He continued licking as his flashing amethyst eyes did not stray away from her wavering ones.

　　Every fiber of Vashati's body trembled – in both fear and anticipation – as she watched how the werewolf sniffed her feminity. Though his nose was now buried beneath her skirt, showing him her delicate petals, his predatory gaze remained transfixed to hers as if he was aiming for a reaction from her.

　　"Such a feeble flower you are, little lamb." He uttered amid his ministrations. The deep guttural voice vibrated inside her core, intensifying the throb of sheer need. "I want to see you wither as you bloom. Isn't it the best ending for a vile creature like you?"

　　A gear stopped turning at the back of Vashati's mind. No. She must not die, not even by the will of the rogue wolf before her. Only fate could decide when and where she would die, no one else, not even herself!

　　Mastering all the strength left in her nimble limbs, she pulled her legs back before she pushed his head away from her body. "I said stay away from me!" On cue, vines protruded from the ground, pulling the werewolf away from her whether he liked it or not.

　　A loud thud accompanied by the shaking of her humble hut elicited from Vashati's action. The werewolf now tied to the walls with her vines and roses. Vashati swallowed the clog in her throat as she inched herself to stand a good arm's length away from him. With limbs now tied, Vashati reached out to his scraped left cheek.

　　"Do ye hate my kind that much, dear wolf?"

　　A corner of his lips twitched. "What happened to the 'rogue', little lamb? Do you really think that this will suffice to restrain an alpha?"

　　Shivers ran down her spine upon confirming his rank in the pecking, but Vashati probed deeper. Perhaps her curiosity made her take two steps closer to the alpha in her midst. Vashati tilted her head to the side, observing the alpha tied with her vines. She received a snarl from her open curiosity, but Vashati spoke nonetheless. "The sins of my kin are not mine to bear, dear wolf. I am no one but a mere lucky Spring Nymph who survived all thanks to my Grappy."

　　The alpha scoffed. Sheer animosity gleamed within his glowing amethyst eyes. "All the more reasons to hate you, little lamb. Your very existence reminds me of what I lost!"

　　The face of his wrinkled Grappy flashed in her mind as if he was admonishing her for her momentary lapse. The image of her Grappy tucking her in made her remember something she held dear ever since she became alone after he left her. Vashati's palm trailed down to where his heart pounded. "Memories comfort us like the closest companion, dear wolf. The things we carry should lift us up, not weigh us down. Love and hope are the lightest necessities in this turbulent world. Use it wisely."

　　"Nonsense!"

　　The alpha snapped Vashati's vines. Wrists bleeding from defying the thorns of her magic, his clawed hands encased her neck. A trickle of crimson ink oozed from his claws as his strength stopped the flow of air in her lungs. "You speak as if you know what I have been through because of your kind. Because your kind existed, I lost my family! For over centuries, I hunted your kind. Make no mistake, you will share the same fate with them... little lamb."

　　Vashati tiptoed as her body was slowly lifted by the enraged alpha's sheer force. And yet, she did not make a move to tie him once more like she did to the striga. In a raspy voice and reddened face, Vashati asked him. "So, will ye kill me this time, dear wolf? Ye know ye can't kill me."

　　Vashati's lips curled into one strangled smile upon seeing the knot lodged deep between his perfectly carved brows. She was right. Her Grappy was right all along. Destiny would find her even when she hid from it.

　　"Ye can't kill me because I am yer destiny."