Under a smoke-darkened sky, the surroundings of Midnight Moon pack's territory were a cacophony of clashing steel and primal roars. Rhys was in the middle, each swing of his blade a testament of ferocity. But then, a scent cut through the din, making him stop mid-swing and look around with anxiety—his wolf roaring wildly... His mate was there. In the battlefield. Quickly and without thinking, he fought his way through. Don't move He snarled. And no one will touch you while I draw breath.
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1Celtic_Ivy
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17/05/2025