Two Eyes Cenote Where history and future meet

Her question makes his lips twitch into a self-deprecating smile. He laughs quietly through his nose.

“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I said it,” says Vermouth. “It just means ‘white.’ I come from a place where flawless white fur like your own is highly prized,” he explains. It’s an understatement. “Kvit wolves are superior in every way.” He pauses, as if not quite sure he wants to elaborate on the flip side of the coin. “Meanwhile, I am svart. I’m sure you can guess what that means.”

Though they hadn’t gone as far as to disown him, his family had made sure to remind him of his inferiority at every turn. Those days of being treated—and behaving—like an Omega are far behind him now. Yet he can’t entirely escape the conditioning of his formative years.

“I’m not worthy of someone favored as you are,” he continues after a moment, “but it would mean a great deal if you would let me be in your service. As an acquaintance, for now, but hopefully as a friend soon enough. And then, perhaps more, if I am so lucky.”