The incense pellet made from Moonlight's Whisper settled into the burner with a soft clink. Spark's fingers lingered for a moment before withdrawing, watching as the first wisps of silvery smoke began to curl upward. The scent was subtle at first—hints of moonflower and night-blooming jasmine—but it grew steadily stronger, filling the quiet chamber with its ethereal fragrance.

Behind him, Flint lay on her stomach, her injured leg secured in wooden splints. The sight of the careful bandaging made something in his chest tighten. He'd seen her endure the pain without complaint, maintaining that characteristic calm even as the healer had set the bone. Now, she waited quietly as he settled himself cross-legged behind her, his movements measured and deliberate.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, his voice carrying that hint of nobility that seemed woven into every word he spoke. When she nodded, he placed his hands gently on her shoulder blades, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her inner robes.

The incense smoke drifted between them, and Spark felt an unfamiliar warmth beginning to spread through his chest. His thoughts, usually so ordered and precise, began to scatter like autumn leaves in a breeze. The scent was... different than he'd expected. More potent. More intimate.

His golden eyes fixed on a point in the distance as his mind wandered to the questions that had been haunting him. The stark reality of their differences pressed against his consciousness like a physical weight. He was a wolf of the Inferno Pack—a prince, no less—and she was human. The gap in their potential lifespans stretched before him like an unbridgeable chasm. Even now, as he prepared to share his spiritual energy with her through dual cultivation, he couldn't ignore the fact that her inability to cultivate would always keep them in different worlds.

The smoke curled around them both now, and Spark found his thumbs moving in small circles against her shoulder blades of their own accord. His heightened senses caught the slight quickening of her breath, and it sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. The scent of the Moonlight's Whisper seemed to intensify, making his head swim slightly.

"Flint," he started, then paused, uncharacteristically uncertain. The words he'd been turning over in his mind for days seemed to dissolve on his tongue. How could he express his concerns when he wasn't even sure of his own heart? Her apparent indifference to him should have made things simpler, and yet...

"What is it?" Flint asked, her voice carrying that characteristic steadiness that had first drawn him to her. She turned her head slightly, just enough that he caught a glimpse of her profile in the smoke-laden air.

Spark swallowed, his noble bearing momentarily faltering. "Nothing. We should begin." The words came out more clipped than he'd intended, betraying the tumult beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He focused on channeling his natural aura, feeling it pool in his arms like liquid moonlight.

As his energy began to flow into Flint through his palms, the Moonlight's Whisper incense seemed to wrap around his senses like silk. Each breath brought a new wave of that intoxicating fragrance, and with it, a deepening of the strange yearning in his chest. His thoughts began to drift, like leaves scattered on a spring stream.

He found himself remembering that terrible day—Flint is drenched in blood, her features contorted with agony. The memory of gathering her into his arms, feeling her warmth even through the blood-soaked robes, sent an unexpected tremor through his hands. Back then, he hadn't questioned his actions, hadn't stopped to consider the appropriateness of holding her in his. He'd simply acted, driven by an instinct he still couldn't fully comprehend.

The Moonlight's Whisper incense was making his head swim, reminding him of a distant memory. He was ten again, sitting cross-legged on smooth wooden floors as his brother Oleander produced bottles of spirit wine with a conspiratorial grin. Little Luna, only seven then, had giggled as she sipped from cups far too large for her small hands. The memory sharpened: Azure storming in, his face thunderous, lecturing them about responsibility and proper behavior. But it was their Empress Mother's reaction that had cut deepest—not the anger itself, but the way her gaze had barely touched him before fixing solely on Luna.

Of course she would focus on Luna—her precious daughter, the one who could potentially inherit the throne. The Inferno Wolves needed a female heir, after all, and Spark had known since childhood that his birth, before his mother had produced a daughter, held little significance to her.

The bitter memory dissolved as Spark noticed something wrong with his natural aura flow. His natural aura, which should have been flowing smoothly into Flint's inner sea, seemed to hit an invisible wall. He narrowed his golden eyes, fighting through the strange haziness that had nothing to do with wine. His fingers pressed harder against her shoulder blades, the sudden force causing Flint to pitch forward slightly before catching herself.

"What's happening?" he muttered, the words coming out thick and confused. Was he questioning the strange lightness in his head, or the unexpected resistance to his natural aura? Even he wasn't sure anymore. The incense smoke continued its lazy dance around them, and Spark found himself swaying slightly, his usual precise control slipping through his fingers like morning mist.

His thumbs dug into the junction between Flint's shoulder blades, his noble bearing momentarily forgotten as frustration crept in. The resistance remained stubbornly in place, like a door that refused to yield no matter how hard he pushed. He struggled to concentrate, his thoughts constantly scattering like the ripples on the lake surface striked by a peddle as the Moonlight's Whisper filled his mind with a hazy fog.

"I don't know why, but my natural aura... it seems unable to enter your inner sea," Spark managed to articulate, his voice thick with effort as he slowly lowered his hands. The silver smoke from the incense burner continued its hypnotic dance around them, and he found himself swaying slightly closer to Flint. His golden eyes fixed on the pale curve of her shoulder where her inner robes had slipped, revealing a strip of alabaster skin.

A foreign heat coursed through his veins, bringing with it an unfamiliar urge that made his fangs ache. He wanted to—no, needed to—trace that exposed skin with his teeth, not to hurt but to claim. To leave a mark that would say she was his.

His body moved of its own accord, drawing closer until he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His breathing had grown quick and uneven, each exhale ghosting across her shoulder in warm puffs that made the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.

Flint's brow furrowed slightly, her mind still clear despite the intoxicating fragrance that seemed to have such a profound effect on Spark. The incense that had reduced the proud wolf prince to this state barely touched her consciousness, allowing her thoughts to remain sharp and analytical.

"It's fine," she said after a moment of consideration, her voice steady and pragmatic. "There must be other methods." The words hung in the air between them, and she wasn't sure if she was reassuring him or herself.

Using her arms for support, she twisted around to face him—and froze. Spark's face was mere inches from hers, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. His breath fell hot against her skin, and in that moment, he looked every bit the spiritual beast he truly was. Gone was the carefully maintained noble bearing, replaced by something far more primal and raw.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

A shimmer of magic rippled through the air as Spark's wolf ears materialized, dark and velvety against his gray-black hair. He lowered his head, bringing his face closer to Flint's. His voice carried an unusual playfulness, honeyed and slightly slurred from the incense's effects.

"You said before... that the wolf ears were cute, didn't you?" The words carried an almost musical lilt, so different from his usual measured tones.

Flint's analytical mind tried to process this sudden shift in Spark's demeanor. Something felt off—the closeness between them, the haziness in his golden eyes, the uncharacteristic warmth in his voice. Wasn't this the same wolf prince who usually maintained such careful distance? She hesitated, studying his face with quiet curiosity before finally responding with a soft "Mm."

"Touch them," Spark murmured, his request carrying an almost childlike pleading that seemed entirely at odds with his noble bearing. The silver smoke from the incense burner continued its lazy dance around them, wreathing his figure in ethereal light.

"Alright." Flint shifted carefully, mindful of her splinted leg as she turned to face him more fully. The movement brought them even closer, and she had to lean on her left hand for balance. Her right hand emerged from the narrow space between them, reaching up to where his wolf ears twitched slightly in anticipation.

Her fingers found the coarse yet fluffy fur, each strand thick and wild beneath her touch. Despite their rough texture, there was something endearing about the way the dark fur bristled and flattened as she gently scratched and rubbed in small circles. The ears themselves were warm and alive under her fingertips, twitching occasionally at her ministrations.

As Flint's fingers continued their gentle exploration of his ears, Spark's right arm suddenly snaked around her waist. In one fluid motion, he pulled her against him, the movement swift yet surprisingly gentle despite his incense-addled state. Her back pressed firmly against his chest, and through the thin fabric of their robes, she could feel the thundering of his heart—a rapid, almost frantic rhythm that seemed to echo through her own body.

The warmth radiating from his chest was almost overwhelming, seeping through her robes and into her skin like summer sunshine. His breathing came in short, heated puffs against her neck, each exhale sending tiny shivers down her spine. The wolf ears beneath her fingers twitched and flattened, betraying an agitation that his carefully controlled expression usually concealed.

"What's wrong?" Flint's hand stilled its movements, her fingers still buried in the coarse fur of his ears. She found herself awkwardly wedged between his arm and his head, which now rested heavily on her left shoulder. The position was intimate yet somewhat uncomfortable, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot.

"Flint, can we… can we… have" Spark's words came out thick and slurred, like honey dripping from a spoon. The rest of his request died on his tongue as a moment of clarity pierced through the incense-induced haze. His noble upbringing reasserted itself just enough to stop him from voicing thoughts that might bring regret in the clear light of day.

He bit his tongue sharply, the sudden pain cutting through the fog like a blade through silk. "Flint, I feel... dizzy," he managed, his usual precise diction blurring at the edges. His head dropped lower, nuzzling against the curve of her neck in slow, languorous movements. The silken strands of her hair tickled his face as he moved, and Flint couldn't suppress a slight shiver as his breath ghosted across her skin.

The fragrance hanging in the air began to affect Flint too, wrapping around her thoughts like gossamer threads. It brought a pleasant heaviness to her limbs and a gentle fog to her mind, making her eyelids droop slightly. "Is it because of this incense?" she murmured, the words coming out slower than usual.

The moment the question left her lips, clarity struck like lightning through the haze. Everything clicked into place—Spark's strange behavior, his unusual loss of control, his uncharacteristic intimacy. Could the incense be... an aphrodisiac? But why would Spark deliberately light something like that?

"Spark, why did you light this incense?" she asked, her analytical mind pushing through the pleasant fog.

But Spark seemed beyond hearing. His arms tightened around her like iron bands wrapped in silk, his voice a heated whisper against her skin. "Flint... Flint... I want..." The words trailed off into something unintelligible, heavy with unspoken desire.

Realizing she needed to act, Flint began working her way out of his embrace. It wasn't easy—his arms were strong, and his wolf instincts seemed to make him reluctant to let go. Finally breaking free, she hopped awkwardly on her good leg toward the incense burner, the wooden splint on her injured leg making each movement a careful balance.

Reaching the burner, she grasped the still-burning incense pellet without hesitation. Though it smoldered against her skin, she showed no sign of discomfort—pain had always been more of a distant acquaintance than an enemy to her.

Turning back, she saw Spark slumped against the wall by the bed, his golden eyes unfocused and dreamy. "Flint, where did you go?" His voice carried a note of longing that made something flutter in her chest.

I'm right here, she answered silently, her expression softening for just a moment.

Hopping to the window, she threw it open with her free hand. The winter wind rushed in like an eager guest, dispersing the silver mist of the Moonlight's Whisper. With a determined thrust, she tossed the incense pellet out into the night. It caught the moonlight as it fell, trailing wisps of silver smoke before disappearing down the slope below.

As the silver mist of Moonlight's Whisper dissipated, carried away by the crisp winter breeze, Spark's golden eyes slowly regained their focus. The hazy dreamscape that had enveloped his mind began to recede like morning fog before the rising sun. He blinked rapidly, each flutter of his eyelashes seeming to clear away another layer of the intoxicating fog.

The first thing he became aware of was the cold. The open window had allowed the winter night to creep into the room, its icy fingers trailing along his skin and making him shiver. His wolf ears twitched, catching the faint whisper of wind through bare branches and the distant cry of a night bird.

As his senses sharpened, memory flooded back in fragments. The warmth of Flint's skin beneath his hands. The intoxicating scent of the incense. The burning desire that had coursed through his veins like liquid fire. Each recollection brought with it a wave of mortification that colored his cheeks a deep crimson.

His gaze darted around the room, finally settling on Flint. She stood by the window, silhouetted against the star-strewn sky, her long black hair stirring gently in the breeze. The sight of her made his heart clench with a mixture of shame and longing.

"Flint," he started, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, trying to summon the poise that befitted his noble lineage. "I... I owe you an explanation."

Flint turned from the window, her lips curved in an amused smile as she observed his flustered state. There was something endearing about seeing the usually composed wolf prince so discomfited. She leaned against the windowsill, the winter breeze playing with loose strands of her hair.

"Oh?" Her simple response carried a wealth of meaning, the single syllable somehow managing to sound both curious and teasing. The moonlight streaming through the window caught the subtle quirk of her eyebrow.

"I... I didn't know about the incense..." Spark swallowed hard, the words 'aphrodisiac effects' dying in his throat. His mind raced through the events of the past hour, desperately trying to recall if he'd said anything truly mortifying. The memories were frustratingly hazy, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.

His golden eyes fixed on a point just past her shoulder, unable to meet her steady gaze. "It was... Azure, my elder brother, he told me it would aid in dual cultivation." His voice grew progressively quieter, trailing off into something barely above a whisper. A new thought struck him, making his ears flatten against his head - perhaps he should start questioning his brother's supposedly helpful suggestions.

A memory flickered through Spark's mind - Azure at Spark’s twelve, his casual words now taking on a darker meaning: "These flowers are used to make incense pellets for dual cultivation." What if it hadn't been information, but a warning? The implications about the Empress Mother's dual cultivation practices made his blood run cold. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Spark lowered his head, cold sweat beading on his forehead as the realization washed over him like ice water.

"Flint... I... I'm sorry..." His voice trembled slightly, words failing him as shame and horror twisted together in his chest. The proud wolf prince seemed to shrink into himself, his usual noble bearing crumbling like autumn leaves.

The soft thump of Flint's uneven steps drew his attention. She was making her way toward him, one hand braced against the wall for support. Spark rose instinctively, his body moving before his mind could catch up, but the short distance between window and bed meant Flint had already reached the bedside. As she steadied herself against the bedpost, Spark's hand found hers in an unconscious gesture of support, the touch feeling as natural as breathing.

The moment stretched between them like spun sugar before Spark jerked his hand away as if burned, suddenly aware of how casually intimate he'd become with touching her. He circled around her with careful steps to close the window, the latch clicking shut with a soft finality.

Behind him, Flint had settled on the bed's edge, awkwardly trying to maneuver her splinted leg into a comfortable position. Without thinking, Spark strode back to help, lifting her injured leg onto the bed with gentle efficiency. Then, as if trying to restore some semblance of propriety, he pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down, his movements stiff with self-consciousness.

The silvery moonlight painted shadows across Spark's downturned face, and despite being the one who had been potentially taken advantage of, Flint felt an unexpected urge to comfort the dejected wolf before her. He looked so different from his usual proud, noble self - more like a repentant pup than a prince of the Inferno Wolf Pack.

She reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly in the space between them. Her fingers barely brushed against his gray-black hair, falling short of reaching his wolf ears. The silken strands slipped through her fingers like water as she gave his hair a gentle, almost tentative stroke.

"It's alright," she said simply, the words falling soft and steady in the quiet room. The words felt inadequate somehow, but comfort had never been her strong suit. For someone who could analyze complex situations with ease, the intricacies of emotional reassurance often left her at a loss for words.

The slight tremor in Spark's shoulders stilled at her touch, though he kept his golden eyes fixed firmly on the floor, as if the wooden planks held some fascinating secret. The distance between the chair and bed meant her gentle gesture could only reach the very tips of his hair, the brief contact like butterfly wings against silk.

Watching the silent Spark, Flint decided to change the subject. "Could you give me your hand?" she asked suddenly.