PRIME APPEARS within the shadows of my balcony like the devil coming from hell. He’s clad in black, almost covered from head to toe, wearing a high turtle neck. But his clothes fit him like a hug. It presses against his massive and lean body, casing all the goodness I know hidden inside of the fabric. He looks magnificent, almost blending in with the night sky behind him. He is the night, as I remember the way Wolves thrive under the moonlight.
The moon shines from the top of his head almost like she’s giving him the spotlight. The shadows cast his face in a perfect look. One that makes me want to actually drop to my knees. I can only imagine what mortal females would feel when they see the art of Prime Whitemane.
I can tell that Prime doesn’t feel an ounce of shame for being outed to
