“Arsum Mithriel stood at the open window, looking at the plain below. Completely naked, she did not feel the blizzard touching her skin with the icy fingers of snow whirlwinds. White hair fluttered in the gusts of wind. In the dark corners of the hall, the walls of which were made of black ice, drafts whispered with the shadows. Borgen Rally lazily reclined on the skin of a stormwolf, fingering curls of matted fur in his fingers. Naked, stocky and hairy, he looked more like an animal than a man. Beads of sweat were drying in the thick vegetation on his powerful chest and belly, and his groin was damp and languid. He liked this feeling, just as he liked to feel the weight of his lover’s body on his body a couple of minutes ago, to feel her passionate beating towards his own pressure, to hear her inarticulate moan through his bestial growl. Borgen glanced over the smooth lines of Arsum’s body, returning again and again to her elastic buttocks and feeling something moving more and more insistently in her lower abdomen...”