WonNovels

1

The rainstorm lashed against the windows like countless angry whips, making a heart-palpitating sound. It was the heaviest rain the city had seen since autumn began, cold wind drilling through the cracks of the old clinic's door, carrying a wet, bone-chilling cold.

Elara sighed and fumbled for the white cane leaning against the wall. Although she couldn't see, she could feel the oppressive low pressure in the air, like an omen of something ominous. As a blind aromatherapist running a secluded clinic, her world was constructed of sound, touch, and smell.

And tonight, the smell was particularly wrong.

Usually, the back alley only smelled of damp earth and the stale cardboard boxes piled up by neighbors. But when Elara pushed open the back door to dispose of the day's waste, a strong, nauseating smell of iron rust instantly pierced the curtain of rain and rushed into her nasal cavity.

It was blood. And a lot of it.

"Who's there?" Elara's voice trembled slightly, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her cane tight.

No one answered, only the sound of wind and rain. But in her auditory world, she caught a faint yet heavy breathing sound—the rough gasping of a massive creature on the verge of death, like broken bellows pulling air.

Fear told her she should immediately lock the door and pretend nothing happened. In these times, minding someone else's business often meant trouble. Just like Nell in Video 4, who hesitated when meeting the stranger in the alley, Elara's heart tightened.

But that breathing sounded too painful, a pain laced with a desperate loneliness.

Elara bit her lower lip. The nature engraved in her bones—the inability to ignore suffering—took the upper hand. She took a step forward, her cane probing the slippery ground.

Thud.

The cane hit something. Soft, hot, covered in thick fur.

"Is it... a dog?" She hesitated, squatting down, reaching a hand out into the darkness.

Her fingertips touched soaked, coarse fur, but the texture was wrong—the size was too big, the muscles hard as iron, the frame shockingly broad. This was definitely not an ordinary stray dog, nor did it resemble any large breed she had ever encountered.

Just as her hand was about to touch the creature's abdomen, a low growl, seeming to come from the depths of hell, exploded in the rainy night.

The sound carried a soul-shaking pressure, causing Elara instinctively to fall backward, sitting in the mud.

Lucian thought he would die in this filthy alley.

As the Alpha of the Northern Wolf Pack and the CEO of a multinational corporation controlling billions in assets, he never imagined he would be betrayed by his most trusted deputy. That shot not only pierced his flank but, more fatally, the bullet was coated with wolfsbane venom, a poison specifically designed to deal with shifters.

To escape the hunt, he was forced to maintain his wolf form, dragging his broken body for thirty kilometers through the storm until he collapsed at the back door of this small clinic smelling of essential oils.

When the fragile human woman approached, the last shred of Alpha instinct remaining in Lucian screamed—Kill her. Leave no witnesses, do not expose your location.

Even with blurred vision, he saw her fall into the mud. Fragile, pale, absolutely no threat.

He bared his fangs, a threatening growl rolling in his throat, ready to snap her neck if she reached out again.

However, in that split second, the wind changed.

A faint but piercing scent drilled into his blood-filled nasal cavity. It wasn't the smell of rain, nor the smell of rotting garbage in the alley, it was—Lavender and Warm Sun.

In that moment, the originally violent wolf blood in Lucian's body suddenly froze, followed by a fiercer palpitation. It wasn't killing intent, but an ancient, domineering possessiveness originating from the depths of the soul.

Mate.

The word echoed madly in his wolf consciousness, just like the look in the silver wolf's eyes when he looked at Anna in the blizzard in Video 9, filled with an incredible sense of fate.

This fragile human woman was his fated mate?

His fangs stopped just an inch from her wrist. The power originally prepared to tear her apart transformed into an instinctual desire to get closer in this moment.

"Don't be afraid..."

The woman's trembling voice rang out in the rain. She didn't run.

Lucian watched as she reached out again, that slender palm carrying warmth, gently landing on his bleeding neck.

"Good boy, you're hurt, aren't you?"

Good boy?

Normally, anyone daring to speak to the Wolf King in such a teasing, pet-like tone would have been reduced to bones. But now, Lucian only let out a helpless, weak whimper, allowing the scent of lavender to envelop him.

This damn, sweet fate.

Elara didn't know how she did it. Maybe it was adrenaline, or maybe this "Big Dog" was miraculously cooperative at the last moment, using his last bit of strength to support his body, allowing her to half-drag, half-carry him into the clinic's back hall.

Closing the door, shutting out the storm, the warm air in the clinic seemed to relax the behemoth.

He fell heavily to the floor with a muffled thud.

Elara gasped for air, soaked through, but she didn't care about herself. She immediately fumbled to lock the door, then went to get the first aid kit.

"Listen, big guy," Elara said to the air while rummaging through the cabinet for hemostats and gauze, trying to keep her voice steady, "I can't see, but I can feel you're hurt badly. I just want to help you, don't bite me, okay?"

The "Big Dog" on the floor made no sound, only heavy breathing.

Elara knelt beside him, hands touching the wet fur again. This time, indoors, the sensation was clearer—though the fur was matted with rain and mud, the undercoat was incredibly thick, the muscle lines smooth and full of explosive power.

Her hand slid down his spine, then stopped abruptly.

On the left flank, the fur was stuck together by sticky liquid. The smell of iron rust was pungently strong.

Elara took a deep breath, fingers gently probing the edge of the wound. The next second, her face turned pale.

This wasn't a wound from an animal bite, nor a cut from a fence.

As a blind girl who grew up struggling at the bottom of society, she had heard too many stories. It was a round hole with charred edges; the surrounding skin felt unnaturally hot even through the fur.

It was a gunshot wound.

Elara's hand froze in mid-air. This "dog" was not simple, or rather, this was no ordinary accident. This could involve poaching, or worse crimes.

Reason told her she should call the police immediately, just like the safety warnings flashing through Anna's mind when facing the injured wolf pack in Video 9.

But in the moment of her hesitation, a huge, warm paw placed itself on the back of her hand. No claws extended, just a heavy weight, like a silent plea, or perhaps... a trust entrusted.

Immediately after, a wet nose leaned close to her cheek and rubbed gently.

The movement carried a careful ingratiation, completely at odds with the deterrence represented by his size.

Elara's defenses collapsed instantly.

"Alright," she sighed, flipping her hand to hold the massive paw, feeling the rough and thick pads, "Looks like we're both trouble magnets. But I can't let you die here."

What she didn't know was that the eyes watching her at this moment were not the dark brown of an ordinary dog, but were flashing with wisdom and complex emotions—Ice Blue. They were the eyes of a king, now filled with reliance on her.

2

Treating the wound was a silent war.

Although Elara couldn't see, her hands were sharper than eyes. She cut the fur around the wound and rinsed the surface with alcohol. Every time the alcohol touched the raw flesh, she could feel the muscles under her hand instantly tighten, like a fully drawn bow.

"Bear with it, I know it hurts." Elara soothed softly, one hand gently stroking the back of his neck, trying to relax him.

Lucian gritted his teeth, not from pain—he had suffered injuries ten times worse—but because of her hands.

As a werewolf, in injured and shifted states, senses are amplified infinitely. Elara's fingers were soft, cool, carrying a special healing magic. Her focus while treating the wound, and the sweet scent continuously emanating from her that fascinated the wolf, were a double torture for him.

On one side was the burning of the poison, on the other was the tingling sensation of his Mate's touch.

When she began stitching the wound, Lucian even had to bury his head in his front paws to suppress the groan spilling from his throat. The sound sounded too much like a whining puppy, which made the proud Wolf King feel ashamed.

"How did you get like this?" Elara muttered while stitching, "This looks like bad people hurt you. Did you escape from a dog fighting ring?"

Lucian rolled his eyes—if he were in human form. Dog fighting ring? Those lowly creatures deserved to be mentioned in the same breath as him?

"Done, last stitch."

Elara cut the suture thread and wrapped it thickly with gauze. She slumped on the floor, exhausted, beads of sweat on her forehead.

"You need to eat something, and you need antibiotics." Elara stood up, her knees cracking slightly from kneeling too long, "But I only have medicine for humans. Hope it works."

She fumbled her way to the kitchenette. Lucian lay on the floor, his body extremely weak, but his gaze followed her back tightly.

In this small, dim clinic filled with fragrance, the Wolf King Lucian made a decision.

Until his wounds healed, until the traitor was found, he was this "Big Dog."

And, since she was his Mate, protecting her was his responsibility. Even if right now he could only lie on the floor, barely able to stand.

A moment later, Elara returned with a plate.

"I don't have dog food, only leftover beef stew from yesterday. I washed off some of the salt." She placed the plate under his nose, apologizing, "Make do with this."

Lucian looked at the average-looking beef, rejecting it internally. He was used to eating the freshest raw deer meat or steaks carefully prepared by Michelin chefs.

But looking at Elara's expectant eyes, the only light in her darkness.

"Eat, please." Just like Anna begging the silver wolf to eat in Video 9, her tone was full of sincere concern.

Lucian sighed (to Elara it sounded like a heavy breath), lowered his noble head, and began to eat.

For you, my Queen. He said silently in his heart.

After eating, the medicine began to take effect, and exhaustion hit like a tide.

Elara brought an old blanket and gently covered him.

"I won't turn off the light. Although I can't see either, maybe you'll feel a bit safer." She squatted beside him for a while, scratching gently behind his ear, "Goodnight, Shadow. Since you came in the night, I'll call you Shadow."

Shadow.

Lucian repeated the name in his heart. Not bad.

Elara went back to the bedroom upstairs. Lucian listened to her footsteps fading, confirmed she locked the door, lay on the bed, and her breathing became steady.

Only then did the giant wolf, who had been docile on the floor, slowly raise his head. His eyes instantly became cold and sharp, scanning every corner of the clinic, confirming there were no threats.

Just like the homeless man in Video 4 maintaining regal dignity even sitting in mud, Lucian at this moment, even gravely injured and curled up on an old rug, still radiated a chilling Alpha aura.

This small clinic, starting tonight, was his territory.

Any threat daring to approach would be torn to shreds.

3

The next morning, Elara was awakened by a strange sensation.

No alarm clock rang, no sunlight heat on her face (it was cloudy today), but she just felt something beside the bed. A steady, massive presence.

She subconsciously reached for the cane on the nightstand but touched a ball of warm fur.

"Shadow?" She sat up in surprise, "How did you get up here?"

The bedroom door was clearly closed... no, she seemed to have forgotten to lock it, just pulled it to. But how could this injured big dog have the strength to climb the stairs and silently push the door open?

Lucian lay on the rug beside the bed, chin resting on his front paws, watching the just-woken Elara.

She wore a washed-out white cotton nightgown, hair messy, eyes unfocused, but that lost expression was unexpectedly cute.

Late last night, he heard several drunks passing on the street, making noise. Worried they might break in, Lucian endured the severe pain of his wound to climb upstairs and guard her bedroom door.

This was the Alpha's protective instinct for his mate, absolutely not because he wanted to fall asleep smelling her scent. Absolutely not.

"Looks like you're recovering well." Elara fumbled to get out of bed, stepping barefoot on the floor.

Lucian immediately stood up, using his massive body to gently block her path, guiding her to avoid the slippers on the floor—the ones she kicked off randomly yesterday.

Elara paused. Her leg touched his solid flank, feeling him guide the direction.

"You want to help me?" She laughed incredulously, "You're too smart."

She bent down and hugged the huge wolf head, rubbing her cheek against the thick fur on his neck.

"Good morning, Shadow."

Lucian went stiff.

Too close. Her breath sprayed on his neck, one of the most sensitive parts of a werewolf. That sweet scent was challenging his self-control.

He should push her away, or growl a warning. But he didn't.

Instead, possessed by some ghost, he stuck out his tongue and extremely quickly licked her cheek.

Just like the white wolf licking Billy's neck in the woods in Video 8, this action carried a secret intimacy and probing.

Elara giggled; it was the most pleasant sound Lucian had ever heard.

"Okay, stop it, it tickles. I have to open the shop."

...

Business at the clinic wasn't busy, but definitely not easy. Elara's main clients were nearby community residents, occasionally some old customers coming by reputation.

Lucian soon discovered Elara's life was full of inconveniences and hidden dangers.

Like the delivery guy, whose eyes always unscrupulously wandered over Elara, bullying her blindness by shortchanging her two dollars.

Like the drunk neighbor upstairs, who kicked over her signboard deliberately every time he passed the clinic door.

As a Wolf King, Lucian's tolerance limit was very low.

When the drunk neighbor came drunk to the door again, shouting and screaming, even trying to push the door in to "borrow some money," Shadow, who was pretending to sleep behind the cashier counter, moved.

Elara was about to pick up the phone to call the police when she heard a low growl, like a beast before hunting.

The sound wasn't loud, but it carried a frequency that made biological instincts feel fear; the air seemed to solidify in this instant.

Just as the drunk's hand touched the doorknob, he saw a huge silver-gray beast walk out of the shadows.

Those ice-blue eyes held not a trace of a dog's docility, only pure killing intent. In that moment, Lucian did not hide his Alpha pressure.

"Get out."

Although he didn't speak, the meaning in his eyes was crystal clear.

The drunk was half-sobered by fear, screamed, and scrambled away rolling and crawling.

"Shadow?" Elara heard the commotion and fumbled over in panic, "What happened? Did you bite someone?"

Lucian retracted his aura, turned around, and immediately switched back to "Loyal Dog Mode." He walked over, nudged Elara's palm with his head, and let out an innocent whimper.

Elara squatted down, carefully checking his mouth and paws, sighing in relief only after confirming there was no blood.

"That sound just now... sounded so scary." She whispered, fingers stroking his back muscles that were still somewhat tense, "But I felt it, you were protecting me, right?"

Lucian let her stroke him, resting his chin gently on her knee.

Yes, I am protecting you.

But he knew even more clearly that these peaceful days wouldn't last long. His injuries were healing at an amazing speed—thanks to the werewolf constitution, and even more thanks to having his Mate by his side.

And those who tried to kill him must still be searching nearby.

Just then, Elara's movements stopped. Her fingers pressed on both sides of his spine, the technique of a professional masseuse.

"Your muscles are too tense, Shadow," she said, "Although massaging a dog sounds strange, I am a professional. After closing tonight, let me give you a massage? It's good for your wound recovery too."

Lucian's ears twitched.

Massaging the Wolf King? Did this bold woman know she was playing with fire?

But looking at Elara's pure smile, words of refusal just couldn't come out (after all, he couldn't speak).

And, just thinking about the feeling of those soft hands wandering over his body, he felt... maybe being a "dog" for a few more days wasn't such a bad thing.

4

Night soaked the city like thick ink; the clinic's shutters were pulled down, isolating the noise outside. The air was filled with the scent of sweet orange essential oil mixed with jojoba oil base—a formula Elara specially chose for Shadow, known for soothing nerves and relaxing muscles.

"Alright, big guy, come here." Elara patted the massage table covered with a soft mat, "I know it's weird to let a dog climb up here, but trust me, you'll like it."

Lucian stood by the massage table, his huge wolf body hesitating.

As the head of a billion-dollar conglomerate, he was used to enjoying services at top SPA clubs, but he never imagined one day he would be in this shape, lying on a small bed in a countryside clinic, waiting for a blind girl's "caress."

This was ridiculous. His dignity was protesting.

But when Elara's oil-covered, warm, and soft hands gently rested on the back of his neck, dignity shut up immediately.

"Good boy." She coaxed softly, arms exerting force, trying to hug him up.

Lucian sighed (to Elara, another heavy breath), and to save her back, he obediently leaped up, landing steadily on the massage table. His size was so large that his four paws had to curl up so they wouldn't hang in the air.

"God, you're heavy." Elara laughed, fingers sliding down his spine, "Your frame is like a pony."

As the oil spread, Elara's technique became professional and strong. She accurately found the stiff points in the gaps of his shoulder blades—muscle spasms caused by maintaining wolf form for too long and staying alert to protect her these past days.

"Relax, Shadow," she murmured, kneading in circles, "You're too tense, like you're ready to go to war anytime."

Lucian buried his head between his two front paws, body taut like a drawn bow.

Relax? Impossible.

Her palms slid over his back muscle lines, fingertips occasionally sinking into the thick undercoat, touching the scorching skin. That sensation was amplified several times by sensitive nerve endings, rushing through his spinal cord like electric current.

As a wolf, he was sensitive to touch; as a male who found his Fated Mate, this touch was simply sweet torture.

He could smell the blood scent radiating from the pulse on her wrist, feel the warm airflow brushing his ear tips when she breathed. The beast inside was screaming madly: Roll over! Pin her down! Mark her! Tell her who you are!

A suppressed whimper spilled from deep in his throat, sounding both painful and pleasurable.

Elara paused: "Did I hurt you?"

She didn't stop, instead stroking the healing wound on his flank more gently. That was the scar left by the gunshot; the new pink skin looked out of place amidst the surrounding silver-gray fur.

"Here..." Elara's fingers gently traced the round scar, her voice suddenly becoming a bit hoarse, "It must have hurt a lot, right? Who could be so cruel?"

Her fingertips carried pity, gently dotting his scar.

In that instant, Lucian felt his heart being hit hard by something.

From childhood, he was an Alpha raised as a killing machine. Injury was a symbol of incompetence, scars were medals of glory; no one ever asked him "Did it hurt?"

In this small room, this blind girl who didn't even have the ability to protect herself was feeling heartache for him, a beast capable of tearing apart the whole street.

An unprecedented sourness surged to his eyes. Lucian slowly turned his head, gently rubbing her wrist with his wet nose tip.

It doesn't hurt anymore. He said in his heart. As long as you are here, it doesn't hurt.

"You know, Shadow," Elara continued massaging, seeming to talk to herself, "Sometimes I feel like you understand me. This feeling is strange... like there's another person in this room."

Lucian went stiff all over.

"And..." Elara's hand stopped on the strong muscle of his hind leg, brow slightly furrowed, seeming confused, "Your muscle structure... is different from the dogs I touched in anatomy charts. Your forelimbs are wider, paws bigger... more powerful."

She couldn't see, but that didn't mean she was easy to fool.

The atmosphere suddenly became heavy. Lucian held his breath, those ice-blue eyes staring tightly at her, pupils contracting. If she guessed... if she got scared...

Just then, a thunderous explosion suddenly came from outside the window—it was the sound of a transformer exploding across the street.

Elara screamed in fright, the oil bottle in her hand dropping to the floor.

Lucian reacted almost instinctively, his massive body springing up instantly, sweeping front paws to pin Elara onto the massage table, covering her entire body with his own, shielding her tightly underneath him.

In the darkness (the explosion caused a blackout), Elara felt the behemoth pressing on her. Heavy, scorching, full of oppression, yet giving absolute security.

His heartbeat was right by her ear, slamming against his chest powerfully; it was a rhythm that made her heart palpitate more than the thunder.

"Shadow..." She reached out tremblingly, encircling that furry giant neck.

Lucian maintained the protective posture, looking down at the woman beneath him. In that moment, the boundary of animals blurred. He was no longer a dog, not even a wolf, he was just a male wanting to protect his woman.

He leaned close to her face in the dark, breaths mingling. Just another inch forward, his lips (even if it was a muzzle now) could touch hers.

That temptation was fatal.

Finally, he only restrainedly, extremely slowly licked away the tears frightened out of the corner of her eye.

The rough tongue slid over sensitive skin; Elara shivered, but she didn't push him away. Instead, her fingers dug deep into the mane behind his neck, silently tightening.

That night, no one mentioned the massage again, nor did anyone pick up the rolling oil bottle.

5

The blackout caused by the transformer explosion lasted until the next evening. For Elara, darkness made no difference, but for this chaotic neighborhood, darkness meant danger.

The landlord who had been coveting this shop space—a middle-aged man smelling of smoke and speaking rudely—came knocking this evening.

"Miss Elara, I've said it many times," the landlord didn't leave because of the blackout, instead pacing unscrupulously in the hall by the light of a flashlight, "If you don't pay this month's rent in full, I'm taking back the shop. Recently someone offered a high price to rent this place as a warehouse."

"Mr. Keith, our contract has six months left." Elara stood behind the counter, hands tightly gripping the surface, voice trying to stay calm but revealing helplessness, "And I've already paid half, the remaining half I can next week..."

"Next week? I don't have that patience!" The landlord slammed the table, shaking the bottles and jars on it, "Either pay tonight, or... maybe we can settle the debt in other ways?"

That greasy tone made Elara's stomach turn. She sensed the landlord approaching, that body odor mixed with cheap tobacco and malice getting stronger.

"Please get out." Elara stepped back, bumping into the medicine cabinet behind her.

"Stop pretending to be high and mighty, blind girl." The landlord reached out, wanting to grab Elara's arm, "You live here alone, who knows what you do..."

Just as his dirty hand was about to touch Elara, two ghostly blue flames suddenly lit up in the dark corner.

Immediately after, a low-frequency vibration sound similar to a large engine starting filled the entire room.

That wasn't a dog bark; that was a real growl from the top of the food chain.

"What is that?!" The landlord was so scared he dropped the flashlight; the beam swung wildly on the floor, finally settling on a huge silver-gray paw.

The light moved up. Thick forelimbs, broad chest, fangs bared sharp as daggers, and eyes that seemed to burn with cold fire in the darkness.

Shadow was no longer the big dog acting spoiled in front of Elara. At this moment, the mane on his back stood up, his figure seemed a size larger than usual, and that rushing killing intent made the landlord's legs instantly weak.

"Wolf... it's a wolf!" The landlord screamed and fell to the ground, a wet stain quickly spreading at his crotch.

Lucian approached step by step. He walked very slowly, every step seeming to step on the landlord's heartbeat. He lowered his head, leaning close to the landlord's face, the hot air spraying from his mouth carrying the smell of death.

Touch her and see what happens.

The message in that look was clear without words.

"I'm going! I'm going right now! No rent!" The landlord crawled backward using hands and feet, scrambling out of the door, even losing a shoe.

As the door slammed shut, the clinic returned to dead silence.

Elara leaned against the medicine cabinet, gasping for air, heart pounding wildly.

"Shadow?" She called out tentatively.

The next second, the beast that was just like a demon instantly retracted all hostility. He trotted briskly to Elara's side, nudged her knee with his head, and even let out a few "whimpers" seeking credit.

Elara squatted down, hugging his neck, burying her face in that thick fur. Her body was trembling, tears wetting his coat.

"Thank you... thank you..."

Lucian let her hug him, resting his chin on her shoulder, eyes still staring coldly at the door.

He knew this was only temporary. That landlord would return, or there would be worse people.

As long as he was a "dog" who couldn't speak or use assets, he couldn't truly give her a stable world. He could only scare away a few flies for her, but couldn't build her a castle.

A deep sense of powerlessness and anger spread in the Wolf King's heart.

It was also in this embrace that he made a decision.

His wounds were ninety percent healed. That dangerous scent belonging to the North, carrying the smell of blood, was getting closer with the wind—the traitors were narrowing the search circle.

If he stayed here, not only could he not protect her, but he would also make her a target.

He must leave. To become Lucian Blake, the one who could shelter her from the wind and rain, he must first become that ruthless hunter again.

6

It was the seventh day of their cohabitation.

Elara seemed to sense something. All day, Shadow was unusually clingy. Wherever she went, he stuck tightly to her leg; even when she was mixing oils for customers, he uncharacteristically rested his head on her foot, motionless.

That silence carried a taste of farewell.

In the evening, Elara made a lavish dinner—although it was just pan-fried chicken breast and mashed potatoes, it was the best she could offer.

"Eat more, Shadow." She put the plate on the floor, fingers lingeringly stroking his ear tip, "You seem thinner lately."

Not at all. Under her feeding, Lucian had actually bulked up quite a bit, and his fur had gone from dry when he arrived to sleek and shiny.

Lucian looked at the food, not eating immediately as usual. He raised his head, deeply gazing into Elara's eyes, which though spiritless, were still beautiful.

He wanted to carve this face into his soul. Remembering the dimples when she smiled, the wrinkles between her brows when she frowned, remembering the lavender scent on her that drove him crazy.

It was late at night.

Elara fell asleep. Perhaps due to the fright and exhaustion of the past few days, she slept very deeply tonight.

Moonlight spilled through the gap in the curtains onto the head of the bed, illuminating Shadow lying beside it.

Lucian stood up. He looked around this small, simple but incredibly warm room for the last time. There were no velvet sheets, no climate control system, yet it gave him the most peaceful seven days of his life.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to mobilize the power suppressed within his body.

Bones made slight cracking sounds, muscles stretched and reorganized. The silver-gray fur slowly receded under the moonlight, revealing human skin.

Minutes later, a naked, tall man stood before Elara's bed.

He had broad shoulders, a lean waist, and somewhat messy silver-gray short hair. Those ice-blue eyes looked exceptionally deep under the moonlight.

Lucian looked down at the sleeping Elara.

As a human, he could finally look at her unscrupulously.

"I'm sorry, Elara." He spoke soundlessly, voice hoarse and low, "But I have to go."

He picked up Elara's notepad from the nightstand, the one she used for Braille notes. He couldn't find a pen, nor did he want to leave handwriting that could be traced.

From the pocket of the tattered coat he wore just before shifting (the old clothes Elara found for him), he fished out the Patek Philippe watch he had kept close and hadn't been searched.

This watch was priceless, enough to buy ten clinics like this.

He gently placed the watch by her pillow, right next to her cheek.

Then, he leaned down.

This was not just a goodbye, but also a vow.

His lips gently pressed on Elara's forehead. The touch was softer and hotter than he imagined in wolf form.

"Wait for me." He whispered in her ear, like a devil's contract, "I will come back for you. When that time comes, no one will dare bully you again."

Elara seemed to feel something in her sleep; she moved uneasily, even reaching out wanting to grab something.

"Shadow..." She murmured in her sleep.

Lucian's heart constricted violently. He forcibly suppressed the urge to hug her again, turning to the window.

Outside, the night wind howled. He could smell the nauseating scent belonging to the traitor wolf pack a few kilometers away. They were here.

The Shadow who wagged his tail and begged for pity from the blind girl in the rainy night disappeared.

Replacing him was the tyrant Alpha, Lucian, who terrified the entire business world and wolf clan.

He pushed open the window, like a silver lightning bolt, jumping into the pitch-black night.

...

The next morning, when Elara woke up, she habitually reached for the bedside.

Empty.

The carpet was cold. No warm fur ball, no wet nose nudging her hand.

"Shadow?" She sat up in panic, "Shadow, are you there?"

No response. Only the sound of early birds outside the window.

She stumbled downstairs, searched every corner of the clinic, even opened the back door shouting into the empty alley.

"Shadow! Stop playing, come out!"

No one answered.

Until she returned to the bedroom, soul-lost, and her hand touched the cold metal object by the pillow.

A heavy watch.

Even if she couldn't see, she could feel the exquisite relief and complex mechanical texture on it. That was definitely not something belonging here, nor did it seem like something belonging to a dog.

Elara held the watch, sitting by the bed, tears finally bursting out.

She didn't know what this meant. Did Shadow's owner find him? Or was this all a dream?

"You left me..." She choked, fingers digging hard into the cold metal, "You liar."

She didn't know that at the other end of the city, a bloody purge was beginning. And that "liar" was using the blood of enemies to pave a road to the throne for her.

7

Three months.

For this busy city, three months was fleeting; a few new buildings rose, a few old shops closed. But for Elara, these three months felt as long as a century.

The clinic was still the clinic, and thanks to the Patek Philippe watch she hid under the bed (she had it appraised; it was authentic and worth a fortune), she no longer worried about rent. Landlord Mr. Keith seemed to have seen a ghost and never dared to cause trouble again.

Life seemed to get better, but a piece of Elara's heart was empty.

She no longer put leftovers at the back door, nor did she expect to hear heavy claw sounds. Shadow was gone, like a dream after a storm, vanishing without a trace.

"Elara, you have an appointment." The receptionist/apprentice Lisa's voice interrupted her thoughts, tone unable to hide excitement and nervousness, "It's a... super VIP client."

"What do you mean?" Elara organized towels, somewhat absent-minded.

"Meaning, there's a row of black Maybachs parked outside, four bodyguards got out, surrounding our clinic like the Pentagon." Lisa lowered her voice, "And the guy said he booked the whole day just for a back relaxation."

Elara's hand paused. This kind of pomp was unheard of in this slum.

"Let him in." Elara took a deep breath, adjusting her professional state.

Minutes later, the clinic door was pushed open.

There was no repulsive cologne smell, nor the tobacco smell of the nouveau riche. As the man walked into the therapy room, an extremely faint yet aggressive scent instantly occupied the entire space.

Elara's nose twitched. It was... Cedar, Cold Rain, and a deep Musk.

This smell was too familiar, familiar enough to make her fingertips tingle instantly. It was Shadow's scent, although Shadow's was wilder and stronger, the base note was exactly the same.

"Hello, Miss Elara."

The man's voice rang out. Low, magnetic, carrying the ease and indifference unique to those in high positions. This voice was completely different from Shadow's whimpers when injured, yet it resonated with her eardrums at a certain frequency.

"Hello, sir." Elara suppressed the weird feeling in her heart, "How may I address you?"

"Blake. Lucian Blake."

Lucian stood by the therapy bed, those ice-blue eyes greedily tracing Elara's face.

Three months. To purge the traitors within the family, to regain control of the Northern Wolf Pack and his business empire, he had to leave her and fight in this bloody world.

Now, obstacles basically cleared, he could finally return to her side—as a human.

Just like Dimitri becoming Blake Storm after regaining memory in Video 4, he put on a tailored suit and a luxury watch, but inside he was still the wolf longing to roll at her feet.

"Mr. Blake, please change." Elara pointed to the coat rack nearby.

There was no shy rustling, only the subtle sound of fabric friction. Lucian took off his suit jacket and shirt, revealing a perfect body that was breathtaking even in human form.

When he lay on the massage table, that heavy oppressive feeling instantly brought Elara back to the night of the blackout three months ago.

Elara's hand touched his back.

Hot. Scorching body temp