Blood adorned the field, a gruesome canvas painted by the chaos that unfolded.

Carnage marred the once contemporary city, and death left its mark on the once pristine terrace.

Candace traversed the blood-soaked grass, her bare feet soundless on the battered earth. Every bone underfoot crunched, a stark reminder of the toll exacted by victory. Her muscles were bunched under her skin, her heart hammered against her ribs, yet her chin remained high, her eyes steady like a hawk's.

Antonio had leaned against a shattered oak, his chest heaving like a blacksmith's bellows, sweat slicking his fur-matted skin. The raw scent of ozone and wolf lingered heavily in the air. His coarse fur had bristled, his large claws had dug into the earth, baring his fangs in a snarl that had caused Candace to tremble with fear and defiance.

The soft grass underfoot had hinted at a coolness to recline upon and bask in the sun.

Candace reached him, her hand a featherlight anchor on his heaving fur, pressed against his chest. His fur was matted with blood and sweat. He caught a hint of the freedom she had tasted in the wind. In her eyes, he saw a reflection of their shared history.

Strength had radiated from her, an aura woven from love and the heat of battle. She had been a dam against the ocean tidal wave of his rage. Her posture was a monument of steel forged in the fires of Eden, speaking of defiance and the will to rebuild.

Her eyes, soft as flower petals after a morning mist, had held turbulent weather within, her love a flickering candle in the hurricane of his wrath. He had known the wolf who had frolicked in her soul, the one who had danced with moonlight and playful nips, the glint of mischief in her eyes. But knowledge had gnawed at him, a viper in his gut.

Antonio knew the truth had hung heavy in the air, its weight thicker than blood. He had seen the wolf in her eyes, wise and wild, mirroring the one who had once gamboled beside him in the Eden sun. He remembered her playful swipes, the glint of fangs beneath the ripples of the emerald lake. His fear had coiled like a viper in his gut, chilling him despite the heat of the battle. He understood, with every ragged breath, what awaited him if she had discovered his deception. He braced himself for the storm, for the fury that would have erupted when she learned of his betrayal of the pack.

He had gathered his courage, inhaling the bitter tang of smoke and tears. Her name had emerged from his lips, each syllable a shard of bone scraping against his throat. He nuzzled her, roughness and longing blending in his touch. His tenderness had been laced with desperation to be inside her. The scratch of rough fur against her skin had reminded her nerve endings of his firm hands. The way his touch had sent shivers through her body, igniting a longing for him.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

As if in response, she had pulled down her shirt and bared her shoulder, revealing the dragon’s head tattoo, an echo of the inferno raging within her. Love had warred inside her with the knowledge of his loss of control. The fear of losing him had wrestled with the repercussions of his actions. He had watched, mesmerized, as the storm in her gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of understanding, of acceptance.

In that extraordinary moment, the power and surrender had flowed from him to her.

His boiling blood had simmered. His eyes had caught fire, the knot of tension easing. He had reached out, a single talon tracing the curve of her cheek. She had leaned into it, trust replacing the fire in her gaze. In that silent pact, his anger had receded, the tide of battle turning inward. With a groan, he had folded down before her, the wild beast fading into a human shell, the transformation a symphony of pain. The shift was agonizing, bones twisting and flesh rippling as his wolf form dissolved, leaving a naked, vulnerable man.

Candace's eyes widened. Her breath caught, a whisper trapped in her throat as she stood frozen, shock mirroring the light on her face. Three heartbeats had thudded in the silence, an eternity in the hammer blows against his hope. Her silence had been a chasm, a bottomless pit where his words had vanished. He had inhaled, her scent a bittersweet balm on his scorched soul.

He knew her reply had hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words. He had turned away, a sob escaping her lips, but her whisper had snagged him, “Why?"

She had moved towards him, a wounded bird seeking solace. “Why, Antonio? Why me?" His heart had bled with each tear that had escaped her eyes. He stepped back, the transformation ripping through him again, the agony a cruel counterpoint to her pain.

The battle’s fury had melted away, leaving behind a raw vulnerability etched onto the faces of all who witnessed the exchange. “Don’t you know?" he had rasped, his hand whispering against her hair in unshed tears. “After all this time..." He had drunk in her scent, the touch of her fingers a balm on his flayed soul. Her eyes, glistening with tears, held the weight of understanding.

He had allowed her to delve into his desperation to do what was right, the raw vulnerability beneath the fury, his overwhelming love for her. The exhaustion of his rage had settled into his blood and marrow. His eyes weighed heavily from the destruction he had wrought, despite his urge to not war with the humans he had lived to serve.

Her tears finally broke free. She kissed him, soft and wet, a whisper of forgiveness against his lips. His gaze had pierced hers, eyes brimming with knowledge. She sighed, “I... I..." Her voice crumbled, her defenses surrendering. She had given in, the walls built in Eden finally collapsing under the halo of his raw emotions.

He had felt the dampness of her tears through his own matted hair. Antonio looked up as she lifted him to his feet. “I never knew pain until I met you," he confessed, his voice raw.

"This, all this," she had gestured to the ravaged landscape, “Was this your plan, my love?" Her eyes had blazed, defiance warring with vulnerability.

“I died for you before," he had said, his voice hardening. “I would die for you again."

“Don’t you dare make this about me," she had snapped, the years of wounds festering in her voice. “That was then. This, all this damage, it comes from you."

“And mine from you," he had retorted, the pain echoing in his own voice.