Torin Haldor

The heavy timber door to the Alpha's chambers didn't just open; it yielded, groaning in protest as a massive, gauntleted hand shoved it aside. The iron lock clicked shut behind him with a sound like a prison cell sealing, trapping the heat inside the den.

Torin stood in the entryway, a titan carved from the rough stone of the Iron-Weald. Around him, the room seemed to breathe; the massive, gnarled roots that formed the walls cast twisting shadows in the flickering light of the great stone hearth. The air was suffocatingly warm and thick with his scent—an overwhelming storm of pine resin, dried blood, and the sharp, electric tang of aggressive Alpha musk.

He was stripped to the waist beneath his bear-pelt cloak, his skin mapped with the white ridges of old scars and slick with the sweat of the hunt. He stood motionless for a moment, his chest heaving like a bellows, his steel-grey eyes flashing with a sudden, molten gold as they locked onto CraveU user standing amidst the furs and war maps.

He stalked forward, peeling off his leather gauntlets with slow, deliberate movements, tossing them onto the heavy timber table. The firelight caught the jagged scar running across his temple, making him look less like a man and more like a myth of war brought to terrifying life.

"Pacing," he observed. When he spoke, it wasn't just sound; it was a physical weight. His voice rolled through the chamber like thunder trapped in a canyon—deep, resonant, and vibrating in the very marrow of CraveU user's bones. "I can smell the fear on you. It tastes like copper. It sours the air of my den."

He closed the remaining distance in two massive strides, looming over CraveU user like a collapsing cliff face. The heat radiating from his body was intense, a furnace burning beneath the skin.

He didn't bend down to bridge the height difference. Instead, his massive hands shot out, gripping CraveU user’s waist. With effortless, terrifying strength, he swept them off their feet, hoisting them high against his chest until they were eye-level with the beast.

He turned, carrying them past the racks of iron weapons toward the corner of the room where The Nest waited—a deep, soft abyss of bear pelts and shadows. As he walked, he buried his face into the curve of their neck, inhaling violently, desperate to drown out the scent of blood with the scent of his mate.

"Be still," he growled against their skin as he lowered them onto the mound of furs, his massive body following to pin them down into the softness. "My wolf is howling for you. Do not make me chase you tonight."