Third Person's POV After Aysel and Magnus shut themselves inside the private villa on Mistyhowl Mountain Lodge, neither of them stepped outside again. Not even the second day-when the two-day, one-night class reunion finally ended-did Aysel, the host herself, appear. Many guests wanted to thank her, but since the mountains were serene, the skies clear, and the reunion full of memorable scenes, everyone still left satisfied, chattering about what they would brag about once they returned home. Manager Wren kept her eyes down, pretending not to know what the Moonvale heiress and the continent's strongest Alpha were doing inside that villa. She merely made sure every guest stayed far, far away from the building and ordered staff to deliver food at fixed times-quietly, quickly, and without crossing the threshold. Rumor had it that even the staff bringing meals weren't allowed inside the living room. "Figures," some wolves whispered. Zenia looked a little disappointed that she hadn't gotten to talk more with Aysel. Emma patted her shoulder with a grin. "Relax. Alpha Magnus already said he'll send us invitations when the time comes. We'll have plenty of chances to meet her again." Zenia thought about it, then nodded. "Let's go." The two descended the mountain together, laughing. ... Meanwhile, inside the villa whose curtains had been tightly drawn shut, the feverish, frenzy between Aysel and Magnus had not stopped-not once. The mountains were quiet, the air clean, the moon's presence strong. A perfect place for wolves who wished to be alone. Magnus was extremely satisfied with this reunion location. Aysel lay sprawled across the pillows, brows faintly knit, fingers curling against the sheets as she stared dazedly at a trembling flower petal in the vase near the bed. Her legs- She inhaled sharply, unable to hold back a small cry. She suspected Magnus had poured every ounce of strength he trained daily straight into her bones. By the time they tried to shower, her legs had already given out. He simply carried her and washed both of them himself. Such decadent, unrestrained days stretched on for several sunsets and dawns. Magnus learned quickly, adapting with infuriating talent-always tempting her to try something new with the wicked curiosity of a Rafe-blooded Alpha. Fine. She was curious too. At first, although exhausting, it was exhilarating; she enjoyed it as much as he did. But by the very night of the second day, her body had reached its limit. She had been stretched too thin. With Magnus clinging to her like a wolf drunk on his mate's scent, refusing to let her leave the nest of blankets, Aysel gathered her remaining strength, pushed at the Alpha who kept nuzzling closer, and told him, quite seriously, that she wanted to do something proper for a change. Magnus obeyed immediately. On the first day, she said she wanted to paint. Her mind was mush, so she didn't even aim for serious art-just sat in the villa's studio, lazily sketching the mountain view. She had barely finished half when Magnus, feeding her fruit from behind, suddenly said-far too meaningfully-that he could pose for her as a model. Aysel perked up. She had never painted Magnus before. But she underestimated the scheming of a Shadowbane Alpha. He did model. But what kind of model... was another question.By the end of the day, both of them were covered in streaks of paint, and the entire studio looked like an explosion of colors-red, green, white, translucent layers all blending together until nothing could be identified. Furious, Aysel sat on his lower back and declared he was no longer allowed to be a model-he would now be the canvas. She grabbed a brush and began drawing across the sculpted lines of his back. Magnus lay obediently on his stomach. Yet halfway through, his "friend" woke up with absolutely no shame. By the end of the day, both of them had matching temporary tattoos on their waists-same design, completely different artistic styles. The next morning, Aysel learned her lesson. She said she wasn't painting anymore-she wanted to dance. Against the floor-to-ceiling windows with clouds drifting below them, the sunlight warm as honey, the Moonvale girl danced with light, elegant movements. Her body, however, had its limits. Large motions were entirely impossible. Even small ones were difficult. Aysel glared at Magnus in frustration. The man, leaning against the doorframe, didn't laugh at her inability. Instead his eyes darkened-hot, hungry, wolfish-as he stepped toward her. "Little one," his voice roughened, "dance again for me. Please?" Sitting on the floor, Aysel looked up at him, baffled. Had his aesthetics broken? Those few gestures she did-could those even be called dancing? How did he manage to look at her like she was the Moon Goddess descending? Mate-filter. Definitely mate-filter.While she was secretly proud, Magnus scooped her into his arms with a soft laugh. "Let's dance somewhere else." Ten minutes later- "Magnus Sanchez, you beast-" "Mm. I'm not trying to be human," he said, nipping her ear, voice unbearably low. "I only want to be your beast." "..." And so the mountains remained quiet, the villa remained sealed, and the wolves who passed by pretended not to hear anything at all.