Azazel shifted back into his wolf form and turned his back to her, an unspoken invitation. Hesitant but curious, Ophelia climbed onto him. Heat radiated through his silver fur, his strength steady beneath her hands. Without warning he leapt forward, carrying her through the forest. She pressed close, holding tight as wind rushed against her face and the world blurred into trunks and light.
The forest opened. Trails appeared among clearings, and smoke from distant fires drifted through the air. Ahead, small huts of mud and straw blended into the trees, simple and raw, shaped by instinct rather than tools.
Azazel slowed. Between the huts, children darted—fox cubs, wolf pups, even a young leopard, playing without fear. The tribe felt alive, born from the forest itself.
Ophelia's eyes widened at the people who turned to look at her. They were all men: some wolf-like, others with fox or feline traits. Their gazes fell heavy on her, and she felt their attention wrap around her like heat. A few ignored her, busy with daily tasks, but most stared as though she were something rare and impossible.
Her stomach tightened. They don't even know me. Yet she remembered: here, women were few—one for every seventy men. And she was new. A woman among them.
The first to step forward was a young man with amber eyes. His features were gentle, his voice steady."Beautiful one, will you accept me as your wife?" he asked without pause. "Your eyes remind me of the flowers in my garden—rare and breathtaking."
Ophelia froze, unsure how to respond. But before she could speak, a low growl rumbled through the clearing.
Azazel, still in wolf form, stood between them. The growl carried no rage—only dominance. A warning. She is not yours.
The young man lowered his head in respect, retreating with eyes that still lingered on her.
Ophelia's chest rose sharply. Was it fear, confusion… or something else? Why did this wolf make her heart race more than any of the others?
Azazel's eyes stayed on her, calm yet alert. In that silence she felt something stronger than words.
No one else dared approach. The message was clear: she wasn't free for the taking.
But what about her? What did she want?
Her breath caught as Azazel moved. Slowly, with complete control, he shifted. Fur gave way to skin, claws to steady hands. In moments he stood before her, human again, his silver eyes fixed on hers.
"Come," he said, his voice low. "We'll go to the healer. No one will touch you without your permission."
The vow made her tremble. She hadn't asked for protection, yet it felt like he had read her heart. She could only nod.
Together they walked to the largest hut at the village's center. Simple mud walls and a straw roof, yet its presence commanded respect. Inside, the air was thick with herbs and smoke. Bundles of dried plants hung from the beams, filling the space with a heavy, ancient scent.
Azazel's expression softened as he looked at her."The healer will want to see you," he said quietly. "She'll decide if the tribe accepts you."