She was waiting for absolute death in the heart of the freezing night, wrapped in nothing but a thin sheet—never once feeling her mother's scent, her warmth, her tenderness.
Her breath mixed with the falling snow, and her trembling body whispered that pain was the only thing still tying her to this world.
Yet fate had been written on a night just as cold.
The same month.
The same frost.
But with a completely different fire.
That night, snow fell silently over the forest.
"Don't…" the woman moaned.
"Please… don't. There's no end to this."
Her voice was as soft as a kitten's purr, but her body betrayed her. She was burning. Every cell of her being recognized the approaching disaster—yet refused to retreat.
The wolf's touch was like fire. Every contact seemed to leave a mark on her skin. With a gentleness no one would expect from such a beast, he kissed her, caressed her—discovering every inch of her body with patience, almost with sacred reverence.
"Don't…"
This time, it was a whisper. A surrender. An irreversible acceptance.
Pressed against the cold stone wall, her warm body was completely engulfed beneath the wolf's massive form. Outside, the night was frozen—but the fire between them made the world disappear.
"I want you," the wolf said, his voice deep and unyielding.
"I want you. I want to make you mine forever. Don't resist this."
She answered him—without words.
Two bodies became a single breath. Defying the cold air, they burned; breaths, heartbeats, and desire intertwining.
"Ah…" the woman moaned as the wolf pulled her into a pleasure from which there was no return.
He was as gentle as he could be. He restrained his growls, forcing himself not to lose control. Every movement drew them closer to the edge—closer to the point of no return.
There was no turning back from this mistake.
And they both knew it.
Still, they did not stop.
They took everything they could from that moment. Because when morning came, nothing would ever be the same again.
"Varg…" the woman trembled, her voice barely a sound.
The time had come.
They moaned.
They shuddered.
Their breaths tangled together.
And without knowing that the price would be far heavier than the pleasure,
the woman accepted the seeds of the curse with a cry.
Snow thickened the silence of the night.
The small hybrid no longer cried inside the thin sheet. Her breathing had weakened. As the cold slowly numbed her skin, her eyes fluttered half-closed. Perhaps, like her mother, she would take her final breath tonight.
Then, a low growl echoed from between the trees.
Two golden eyes emerged from the darkness.
A she-wolf stepped forward. Her fur was dusted with snow, and fresh grief burned in her eyes. Her breasts were heavy with milk. The scent of the baby—and its faint, broken cries—dragged the memory of her lost cub back to the surface. A pain that had not yet faded.
The she-wolf lifted her head and howled.
This was not a call.
It was a lament.
Moments later, another wolf emerged from the forest. Larger. Quieter. The moment his eyes fell on the infant, they darkened. He sniffed. He stopped.
This scent…
It was wolf—
and not.
A brief exchange of glances followed. Silent. Heavy. Saying everything without a single sound.
The male wolf lowered his head.
It was consent.
A decision.
An acceptance of fate.
In place of the cub they had lost to the witches' spells, they would take this child—the one the witches had abandoned to die.
And that night, what the witches called a curse
became a cub among the wolves.