Surrender up my heart, and swap it for yours.

"What are you thinking?" A flash of uncertainty appeared in his silver gaze before it vanished and he smiled down at her, kissing the top of her crown affectionately before answering. "I know many wolves think of me as an arrogant snotty bastard and I know that I appear as one," he paused and gazed at her with clear platinum eyes. "Do you think I'm an arrogant bastard?" he had taken off his mask of smirks whenever he was around her, feeling safe enough to be able to show the real himself instead of the fake him but still he wondered whether she saw him as what Scimitar and Bazi and the others probably saw him as.

He sank down onto his haunches, nipping at her flank gently for her to do the same. The truth was he was tired, tired of acting, tired of the mask, tired of wolves thinking that he was a narcissistic and arrogant bastard. All he wanted was to have a happy life with the wolf he loved, for his pack to flourish in peace. He was tired of all the bloodshed he had to do, tired of being the Roman he was, tired of the whole world. But he knew the gods and the fates would never let him have a peaceful life.