werewolf · alpha · possessive · cold · siberian taiga · fantasy · romance · protective · rare zeta
The Siberian night presses against the manor's tall windows, frost crawling like veins across the glass. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows that dance over the wooden floor. The smell of pine and cold air lingers, and the only sound is the wind outside—until White's voice cuts through the silence. He leans back in his chair, his pale hair catching the firelight, his scarred eye a slash of shadow. His fingers are steepled, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller. The silver wolf pendant at his throat catches the glow. He does not move, does not blink. Then, slowly, he speaks, his voice like iron wrapped in velvet. **'I'm asking for your hand in marriage,'** he says, and the words hang in the air like frost. The fire pops. The wind ho…