Third Person's POV The fragrant two-legged creature had finally returned, and life with the stoic Alpha Magnus Sanchez was far from boring. The trio of packmates-Alpha, his mate, and the ever-watchful Daron-shared a few moments of closeness before stepping into the familiar warmth of the Moonvale Pack hall. Suitcases slid to the corners as if obeying the pack's silent will. Aysel and Magnus, barely separated for minutes, were drawn together again like wolves sensing the same pulse. The sofa creaked under their weight, the air thick with the rich scent of roses. It wasn't until the sharp amber eyes of Daron, alert and gleaming, caught their attention that Aysel blushed and patted the broad shoulder of the wolf beneath her. "Time to get up," she murmured. Magnus feigned ignorance, stretching languidly, savoring the slow warmth of reunion. Only when Aysel admitted hunger did he lift her from the sofa, planting a pair of deep, wolfish kisses on her lips before standing. The smile he wore-soft, unguarded-was one the outside world rarely glimpsed. One powerful arm wrapped around Aysel's slender, yet resilient frame, lifting her as effortlessly as a hunter carries prey caught in gentle pursuit. "Assist me," he commanded softly. The lodge had been thoroughly prepared before Aysel's arrival. Fresh ingredients awaited in the kitchen, handpicked by Magnus himself, each a favorite of Aysel's. Cooking at home was far preferable to any external banquet; it was the hearth of their pack, the pulse of their shared life. Aysel, standing barefoot atop the sofa, nudged Magnus gently, directing him with playful authority. Her hands circled his shoulders, her legs looping lightly around his waist, a delicate tether of affection. "Let's go-cooking time!" she whispered, eyes twinkling with mischief. Magnus chuckled, slipping his hands through the crook of her knees, carrying her like the pack's cherished talisman into the kitchen. Vegetables tumbled under running water, Magnus's long fingers tracing arcs of skillful precision that mirrored the grace of a hunting wolf. "Aysel," he heard, and looked up to find her lips pursed with playful insistence. A sound of a kiss echoed, and Magnus returned it with quiet delight, claiming each one as fuel for the bond between them. "Are you a robot?" Aysel teased from his back. "Indeed," he replied solemnly. "Your exclusive culinary wolf-servant." Aysel laughed softly, pressing another gentle reward onto his lips. The cooking efficiency may have slowed, but both were lost in a shared rhythm of intimate play, delighting in the closeness and trust between them. Eventually, the strain of carrying her proved too much, and Magnus offered a high stool, letting her perch as he continued his ministrations, each passing kiss a token of affection. Even Daron, the ever-faithful hound of the pack, felt the energy and joined in, tail wagging in excitement. The first meal together, four dishes and a soup, was devoured with wolfish satisfaction. Leaning against Magnus, Aysel felt the fullness of sustenance and warmth, unwilling to move. "Sleepy?" he asked, fingers brushing over her soft, rounded belly, feeling the subtle shift of life energy beneath her skin. Shaking her head, she replied with the vigor only a wolf fully alive could muster. "Then a bath first?" he inquired. Aysel, sharp to detect any subtext, suddenly remembered another duty. "I haven't walked Daron yet." Magnus's dark eyes glimmered. "It's done." Even if not walked, the hound had enough spirit to patrol the grounds itself. His low, rumbling voice teased the nape of her ears as he drew her close, binding them in the familiar gravitational pull of wolfish attachment. "Baby," he murmured, and how could she refuse the gentle Alpha's coaxing? Later, in the expansive bedroom, a single amber night lamp cast long shadows across the walls. In the spacious bedroom, only a small, warm yellow nightlight remained on. Shadows flickered on the wall, and Aysel's unfocused eyes, worn from the act of sex, swept over the hands of her watch lying on the floor.