Moonlight bled into dawn. The Wolf King watched you sleep curled on the sofa， your breaths fluttering like moth wings.

_This is temporary，_ he told himself. The words tasted hollow. Shelter for protection. A wounded predator's practical alliance. When his ribs healed， he'd vanish into northern mists. These concrete canyons could never cage a frost-born king.

#

Morning found him trailing you to the marketplace.

Sunlight gilded your herb sachets arranged on faded linen. He stood sentinel， silver hair gleaming beneath a surgical mask—“sensitive nose，“ he'd growled when you asked. Truth hid in the shadows of his hoodie.

Human gazes lingered until meeting his eyes.

At the adjacent stall， a potbellied man reeking of stale cigarettes leered. The Wolf King's claws unsheathed millimeter by millimeter as the lout swaggered over.

“Thea!“ Grease dripped from the man's voice.“Finally got yourself a mutt， eh? My offer still stands—“

Your spine stiffened.“Thank you， Mr. Bruce. I'm fine.“

The Wolf King catalogued your trembling—quickened pulse， salt-sweat fear. This harassment was routine. Rage burned his throat like swallowed lightning.

“Playing hard to get with a fucking service beast?“ Bruce sneered.“It's just a—“

Winter descended.

The Wolf King turned. Mask slipped just enough to reveal a smile sharp as an ice floe. No growl. No snarl. Just predatory silence.

Bruce's bladder failed first.

One step. The air curdled with bloodscent from last night's butchery. The Wolf King's whisper cut deeper than claws.“_Scram._“

The man fled， tripping over his own stall.

You tilted your head.“Did something happen?“

“Pest control.“ His tail betrayed him with a smug twitch.

The scene continues with deepening intimacy:

Bruce's abandoned stall clattered in the wind. You resumed arranging lavender sachets， unaware how your“guide beast“ now loomed closer than protocol dictated. His shadow enveloped you like living armor.

“Would you...mind demonstrating the payment scanner?“ You held up the braille-embossed device.“Sometimes customers get impatient when I—“

His large hand engulfed yours， guiding fingertips across raised buttons. Calluses scraped your skin—warrior's hands， not service animal's. Yet his touch stayed feather-light， as if handling spun glass.

A customer approached. The Wolf King's growl manifested as a vibration through your joined hands.

“Relax，“ you whispered， stroking his knuckles. An absent-minded comfort， like petting a stormcloud.“It's just Mrs. Henderson from the flower shop.“

The elderly woman's chuckle carried notes of wonder.“My， Thea! Where did you find such a...devoted companion?“

Your answering smile outshone the morning sun.“He found me， actually. In the rain.“

Behind the mask， the Wolf King's throat constricted. Your trust was a blade poised above his ribs， sharper than any silver dagger. Yet when the next customer came， he remained silent—letting your fragile truth stand unchallenged.

The marketplace glowed amber in sunset's embrace. Your sachet basket lay nearly empty - today's sales undisturbed by petty sabotage. Customers had lingered， charmed by embroidery and the silver-haired sentinel glowering behind you.

“Twenty... fifty...“ Your fingertips danced across currency ridges， sunlight gilding your triumphant smile. The Wolf King's lips twisted. He knew this ritual - humans counting paper like squirrels hoarding nuts. Greed's stench choked cities and tundra alike.

“Perfect timing!“ You sprang up， coins chiming in your apron.“Mr. Tom's stall should still—“

His scoff died as you continued，“...have fresh beef! Great for rebuilding strength.“

You packed remaining wares with blind precision， bills tucked inside your coat's secret pocket - the one smelling of lavender and childhood.“His grass-fed cuts make the best stews. We'll get marrow bones too!“

Autumn leaves crunched underfoot as you reached for him. The Wolf King stared at your outstretched hand. Your joy held no avarice， only... nourishment. For him.

Shame burned his throat.

#

Dawns melted into dusks. He catalogued your rituals - fingertips testing window box soil moisture， navigating boiling pots without spilling a drop. Even your embroidery needles wove spells， threads dancing like enchanted serpents.

Every night's walk home brimmed with olfactory chaos - sourdough tang， overripe peaches， Various kinds of spices' electric zing.

“Your world confounds me.“ The admission escaped as you passed Old Chen's fruit cart.“That man works sunup to midnight everyday， yet lives in cardboard walls.“

Your shoulder brushed his arm.“In the tundra...“

“We……They share. Hunters feed the pack. Cubs guard elders.“ His claws flexed.“Not this...sickness.“

Moonlight caught your wistful smile.“I know. But we bloom where planted， right?“

Dangerous thoughts surged - imagining you in his ceremonial tent， swathed in arctic fox pelts， feasting on elk tenderloins. No more trembling at lecherous laughs. No more braille labels on poisonously“helpful“ medicines.

He shook his head violently.

Yet when you laughed at Mrs. Li's corgi antics， his traitorous tail swayed like some domesticated pup's.

Thank the Moon you couldn't see.

——

Moonlight silvered the decaying apartment complex.

The Wolf King stood sentinel at your window， steel-wool clouds drifting across his eyes._Heal. Leave._ The command echoed hollow. His claws tapped corroded window bars - flaking iron that wouldn't deter a determined child. The door's lock bore a worn-down keyhole even human thieves could pick.

His ears flicked at night's symphony: drunken brawls three blocks east， stray cats' territorial skirmishes， the newlyweds upstairs shredding their vows. Each sound needled his instincts.

Paws carved grooves in concrete as he paced the hallway. The tundra's song thrummed in his marrow - crisp air， aurora-lit hunts， pack howls weaving through birch forests. Yet with every step toward freedom， an invisible tether yanked his ribs.

He found himself drawn back to your bedside.

Moonlight fractured through threadbare curtains， illuminating your face. In sleep， you curled into a fragile curve - knees to chest， fingers clutching pillow seams. A whimper escaped him.

Visions assaulted him: thugs kicking down the rotted door， looters snatching your hand-stitched quilts， that leering Bruce finding your vulnerable form...

You shifted with a sigh， nestling into blankets like a wolf pup seeking its mother's warmth. His resolve warred within him.

‘Fine.’

The concession tasted of defeat. He'd stay until you saved enough for security gates. Until you acquired a proper service beast. Until...

The lie dissolved before it formed.

Silent as snowfall， he knelt by your bed. His bioluminescent gaze tracked your breathing rhythm. Predator's calculus rationalized this vigil - debts repaid， temporary shelter. But when your fingers twitched in dreams， seeking warmth， his tail began its traitorous sway.

Across peeling walls， their twin shadows merged - one coiled like a unsheathed blade， the other fragile as dandelion fluff. The Wolf King closed his eyes. Tomorrow， he'd devise an exit strategy.

——

Tonight， moonlight painted guardian shadows.

The stench of gun oil and steel flooded his nostrils.

Wolf ears flattened against his skull as the Wolf King spun toward the door. Twelve heartbeats. Fourteen. Circling the building in predatory silence.

“I go.“ The words rasped like claws on stone. Every syllable tore his throat raw.“Explanations later.“

But he knew there would be no 'later'; after tonight， all of this would become dust in the memories.

But you blocked the exit， moonlight haloing your resolute features.“If they kill you，“ your whisper was feather-light yet tectonic，“do you think they'll spare the blind witness?“

The truth struck like an arrow between his ribs.

His claws pierced his palms.“My fault. I should never have—“

“No.“ Your fingertips found his jaw. Callused pads traced the scar you'd bandaged weeks ago.“Before you came， every day was fog. Now...“ Your smile outshone the moon.

“I always knew. Wolf fur feels like frost-coated thistles， not dog's cashmere. But trust needs no eyes.“

Boots scuffing concrete echoed through floorboards.

Your thumb brushed his quivering lip.“Let me protect you this time， trust me， I can fool them.“

When you turned toward the approaching storm， your silhouette burned into his vision - slender as a reed in a storm， unbreakable as diamond.

Your bare feet found each step by memory. Darkness had always been your ally， sharpening senses until you could taste the hunters' malice like copper pennies.

The stairwell reeked of gun oil and cold steel - scents as foreign as their owners' malice.

“Is...someone there?“ Your voice quivered perfectly.“I heard noises...“

Three heartbeats quickened.

“Ma'am.“ Leather creaked as a man stepped closer.“We're tracking dangerous game. A beast.“

You pressed against damp plaster， fingertips absently tracing cracks - a nervous tic honed through years of survival.“Y-you mean...the wolf?“ A choked sob.“It came weeks ago...terrifying...“

The air shifted. You felt the White Wolf's presence thrumming in the shadows above， ready to paint these walls crimson.

“Details.“ Another voice snapped.

“It...barged in.“ You hugged yourself.“I told it about the old factory...east side...“

“Why?“ Suspicion laced the question.

Your nails dug into palms.“To make it leave! I'm just...just a blind girl...“

Radio static crackled.“Exact location.“

“Northwest corner. Rusted door...“ You described your father's workplace with heartbreaking accuracy - every ventilation shaft， every collapsed tunnel.

The lead hunter's breath warmed your face.“Did it mention destinations?“

You shook your head violently.“Please...if you catch it...don't say I talked...“

Boots retreated. You counted forty-seven heartbeats before unclenching.

Only then did you notice the blood on your lip from biting back truths.