Lion Head Mesa Krýo

The auburn wolf sniffed sharply, sucking mucus and snot down his throat like a thick slime. The Greek man grimaced at the sensation before he breathed a wheezing sigh. His sense of smell was all but erased by the cold that had settled beneath his skin. This was his only reason for missing her approach.

It was not until her voice spoke his name that the mercenary turned his head toward her, expression softening.

She wished to know if his sleep had been disturbed? Arsenio did not understand. He had thought the lady Tamar wanted nothing to do with him. She had been quieter, stepped softer, and he had done all he could to keep his gaze from traveling to her. Some nights, the Greek could not help but to fix his gaze on the shape of her frame, on the sharp glimmer in her brown eyes.

Tamar, Arsenio spoke her name, voice cracking. I am not used to this cold.

The man studied her as though he would never have another chance to let his eyes rest on her figure.