A ray of sunlight pierced between his twitching eyelids. The law of nature woke him up, and the nearing footsteps occupied his senses as soon as he regained consciousness. Though he remained lying still on a bed made of haystack and woven wool, Cole's attention was on high alert.

'What happened? The last thing I remembered, I was poisoned by that damn food!' Cole lashed out at the back of his mind. His knuckles were white from his clenched fists as his jaws clenched upon thinking that the Moroi Clan had stabbed him on the back right after the Banquet of Hollow Fields.

'But why am I here drowning with the sweet scent of roses? Shouldn't I smell the rancid scent of striga and morois instead?' Cole sniffed, inhaling the aroma of both seduction and innocence. Amid the onslaught of pheromones, a stray thought overlapped with the darkness – a silhouette.

A faceless image in which it reminded him of the calm spring – so full of life – popped in his train of thoughts. It was a feeling of finally witnessing a paradise, only to see it fade right when the autumn breeze blew. It was both euphoric and nostalgic.

The sound of the buzzing bees ricocheted with the wind chimes. Leaves rustled as the dew dropped to the ground. Gone were the owl hoots he vaguely remembered at the back of his mind, replaced by the lark's chirps. What he smelt and heard were enough pieces of evidence to conclude that he was indeed in a small hut at the center of a forest. Since there was only one forest nearest the Hollow Fields, home of the blood-sucking Moroi Clan, Cole knew he was in the Lone Mountain. Of all the places that he could be in, he was now in a place where the curse of destiny and time had long been cast – a relic of the past.

Cole needed to go.

And so, a pair of amethyst eyes opened.

The first thing that Cole noticed amid the surge of information was the shelves of scrolls and potion bottles at his left side, merely two arm's length away from him. As he sat up, the bed grunted from his weight. With his legs hanging, he knew somehow that the foolish owner who had helped him was smaller than his stature.

Foolish, yes.

In an environment wherein the strong trampled the weak, showing emotions such as sympathy and love was a weakness not worth of his life.

Cole trudged to the cauldron. His nose wrinkled upon smelling the rancid smell he was looking for a moment or two ago. On instinct, he took a step back and turned around only to hit one of the ceiling's mainframes, eliciting a tremble from the hut made of scraps. "Damnation!"

Cole's forehead reddened. "Should I castrate the peasant who dared made this warmonger's hole?"

Canines protruded. He hunched as he trudged around the tiny hut. But there was nothing really worth seeing. Aside from the vines that held the scraps together, flowers popped from every nook and crevice of the house. It was nothing but scrolls scattered on the grass floor while cobwebs littered the ceilings – and his hair. Plucked plants consisted of herbs, and... spices filled the gaps between scrolls and emptied potion bottles. A knot started to lodge between his brows, failing to recognize the creature inhabiting the small place.

"Is it a gnome?" Cole immediately answered his question with a shaking head. "No. Gnomes hate the Lone Mountain. Then is it a satyr? But where are the smells of fine wine and the wooden scent of musical instrument?"

A soft spring breeze blew its way to the small wool-covered windows

Cole's wolf stirred. His eyes flashed to a bright amethyst hue as his hackles rose. His attention snapped to the source of the unwelcome visitor. Canines protruded, a snarl escaped from his lips.

And so, Cole Ariadne, Alpha of the Northern Grasslands, felt the fear before seeing the being behind the door.

VASHATI'S POINTY EARS twitched. Though her hearing and smelling senses were not as astounded as the werewolf in her home, her ears were quite handy for certain dangers in her midst. As soon as she turned the knob, her beaten door – made of vines and tree trunks – groaned. Vashati was forced to swallow the clog in her throat as her heart pounded – a familiar feeling whenever a predator lingered around her.

"Are ye awake, dear wolf?" Taking a peek at the half of her face, Vashati glanced at what was transpiring inside her home. Suddenly, the concept of concocting medicines was not as appealing as eating dinner at Laura's home anymore.

"Little lamb," said a familiar guttural voice. A pair of glowing amethyst eyes welcomed her, hovering over the nymph before his calloused hand pulled her arm as he shut the door – shaking the shelves of her home in which it earned a gasp filled with horror from Vashati.

Vashati's ears twitched once more when the raven-haired werewolf sniffed her wheat-colored hair. "It is you. Not the ghastly flowerbed in this hole. You arouse me so, little lamb."

Vashati failed to notice how the werewolf tugged his hair as he looked up. Fixated to the scars around his naked torso, her fingers decided to move on their own accord again. "Are ye in pain?"

Before her fingers could touch the slope of his right neck, a warm hand stopped her. "I am." Holding her palm in a death grip, the werewolf swatted her hand away – as if the mere thought of her hand on his body was something he abhorred. Vashati's lower lip trembled.

'I will leave after I heal all of his wounds. His internal energy is still not stable,' said Vashati at the back of her mind.

From his well-toned body, Vashati's gaze crawled to his neck. Her amber eyes shook upon seeing him swallowed. Vashati's gaze continued to his ashen face. Mistaking his sweat from pain, she asked again. "What does it feel like?"

Their gazes collided, eliciting a torrent of need and fear inside the small hut. Like a collision of black and white, never one without the other.

Vashati's gaze was now wholly drawn to the ethereal being before her. His rough palm on her chin ignited the ache – the need to satisfy her core. Her mouth agape as his thumb traced her lips, parting them.

He answered with his eyes fixated on her lip. "Like losing a prey after a long hunt, little lamb." Caging Vashati between his body and the wall, he inched his face closer to hers. He hunched down to even their faces. He continued in half a whisper. "But am I in pain really, little lamb? I think not. Not now when I locked a new prey of mine."

"This nymph is not anyone's prey to be taken, dear wolf, so ye have to move away and let me tend yer wound. That way, we can go on our separate lives."

Upon the mention of the reality that Vashati willed with all her might to knock some senses in her restless mind, the werewolf before her growled. A deep rumble vibrated from his chest to the stale air around them. Vashati could not help but widen her eyes.

"You're right, little lamb." He tugged his hair as he took a step away from her, giving Vashati a room to breathe the air she was holding in. "Damnation!" He hissed as if he was admonishing himself, which Vashati did not quite get.

The latter could only cock her head as she waited for him to calm down.

With a heaving chest and a distance of twice her arm's length, the werewolf finally looked back at her once more. "How long am I asleep?"

"Longer than those whose footsteps are long vanished, dear wolf. Yer family might be looking for ye, so please sit down and let me heal ye," said Vashati. Gone was the tremble from her voice as she pummeled the reality in her mind.

On cue, Vashati's palms glowed to show him she meant no harm. But she did not get the assurance she was expecting. Instead, she found herself caged between the bed and the werewolf looming over her for the nth time.

"You're a damn Spring nymph."