Her Fated Mate
Tristan stood beside her, five meters away, holding a cub and watching her.
The woman wore a black and white corset dress, slightly bending over, the hem of the skirt gently lifting, accentuating her slender waist. When she lowered her head to smell the flowers, her chin looked even more pointed.
Tristan's throat involuntarily rolled, "Snow Mountain flower, called Snowfall."
"Snowfall? Such a nice name," lyra said, turning her head suddenly, looking at him with smiling eyes.
Tristan felt a strange tightness in his chest.
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