The palace stood as a beacon of grandeur amidst the tranquil landscape, its façade adorned with intricate carvings that caught the gentle sunlight. Each ray of the sun seemed to dance through the foliage of the surrounding trees, painting the vast gardens with a kaleidoscope of colors.

Petals unfurled in vibrant hues to greet the warmth of the day. Butterflies flitted from flower to flower, lending a whimsical charm to the serene setting. Birds' chirps melded seamlessly with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

In this timeless moment, nature's melody enveloped everything it touched, casting a spell of tranquility over the scene.

Alarick hadn't anticipated the presence of sunlight in this place. He had grown accustomed to the dim, shadowy confines of his surroundings, where the moon's gentle glow often held sway.

Before he could articulate his thoughts, Accalia preempted his question. "Where do you suppose the moon derives its light?"

Arching a brow, he pivoted to face her, relishing the plushness of the grass beneath him. "The sun?"

"The sun," she echoed in confirmation. 

"Is that why you can wield fire?" Alarick inquired, resting his head atop his palms. His eyes glinted with a contagious openness to learning.

Accalia, who had lived for centuries and grown accustomed to the passage of time, felt a spark of something unfamiliar stir within her. Life had settled into a predictable rhythm, devoid of the consuming excitement of discovery and the sweet thrill of curiosity. 

With Alarick's arrival, however, a breath of fresh air had blown through her world, awakening dormant sensations and stirring forgotten desires.

A wistful smile touched her lips as she gazed at him. "Yes," she mused, her voice carrying a hint of unexplained longing. "I have not wielded my flames in so long. But you, Alarick, have reignited something within me that I thought had long faded."

Alarick mulled over the recent events until he recalled one magical moment when he'd almost departed from his silver beauty. "That night on the cliff?"

She nodded, memories of desperation and fear flashing in her head. At first, Accalia hadn't expected her flames to have the power to pull him back from the brink of death. Yet, in that moment of uncertainty, she clung to the fragile thread of hope, convinced that their story was far from over.

And now, there they were, resting beneath the sheltering embrace of a colossal tree just outside her castle, a testament to the unexpected twists and turns that fate had woven into their lives.

Accalia sighed softly, adjusting herself until her head rested below his. Alarick gazed down at her, a youthful smile playing on his lips. Her aquamarines held him captive, drawing him in with an irresistible allure until he nearly melted in everything that was her.

He drank her in, committing every detail of her features to memory and engraving her image into the deepest recesses of his mind. He wanted to capture every curve of her smile, every spark of emotion in her eyes, ensuring that she would forever reside within him, a cherished portrait of numinous beauty and dreamy reality.

Faint rouge colored her cheeks as she stared back. His moonstones scrutinized every corner of her being, holding her heart ensnared and baring her soul to his.

"Am I able to talk because you saved me?"

Dazed, as it seemed to be the case ever since him, she lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his silky, raven locks.

His chest rumbled with satisfaction, and his eyes fluttered shut. Accalia nestled closer to him, seeking the soothing vibrations and cherishing the moment of quiet connection.

"Yes," she murmured. "Just as the moon derives its light from the sun, you draw your powers from me. Ones that befit your status and identity as a Lycan, unlike mine as a Goddess."

The plash of the fountains scattered around the gardens served as a serene backdrop to their intimate moment.

"You quickly learned how to speak," Accalia remarked after a while, her eyes meeting his with amusement.

He smirked. "I am a fast learner."

"Indeed you are," she agreed, laughter shaking her body. 

Then, her movements stilled and she held her breath.

Alarick nuzzled her shoulder, his nose tracing a path up her throat as he deeply inhaled her ethereal, hypnotizing scent. "Moonflowers and petrichor."

His lips brushed against the delicate curve where her neck met her jawline as he spoke, sending a shiver down her spine. Inebriated by her smell, his teeth grazed her supple skin, eliciting a soft moan from Accalia. She instinctively tightened her grip on his hair, tugging on his strands and urging him closer.

Alarick groaned in response, his lips trailing down to nibble on her collarbone. He reveled in the sensation of her smooth skin beneath his touch, grateful for the gown that left her shoulders exposed. He loved those kind of dresses. 

Finally, he thought, he would discover the taste of her softness.

In a feeble attempt to halt his actions, Accalia called his name. Yet, her voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the gentle breeze that swept through the clearing.

Thankfully, Alarick seemed to catch on to her request to stop. Pulling back with a deep sigh, he rested his forehead against hers, willing his lungs to calm.

Accalia covered her face, struggling to steady her breathing. "You are truly a fast learner," she panted.

Silent chuckles shook his body as he flopped down to lay beside her. "You seem to have forgotten, Accalia. I am a wolf, after all."

His head twisted her way in a silent exchange.

You can make a man out of a wolf, but you cannot take the wolf out of a man.

Days had passed since that moment, and she flushed, not expecting him to bring it up in such a manner. He was truly remarkable, she mused, clever and quick-witted.

Her magic coursing through him was intended to help him understand her, facilitate communication between them, and guide him through learning how to speak.

Yet, Alarick surpassed all of her expectations.

His ardent need to communicate and connect with her, long before they even met, not only accelerated his learning of speech but also forged a deep link between their minds. A conduit through which only the two of them could interact.

Accalia opened her arms in silent invitation. In the blink of an eye, her head was laid atop his chest and his hands were running down her disheveled tresses. Alarick hummed under his breath, a symphony of serendipity and contentment.

With a delighted sigh, she pressed her face into the coolness of his leather jacket. 

In that moment, life pulsed through her entire being, flowers blooming across the landscape of her heart. Her soul had once been barren, forsaken lands. But then, like a gentle rain after a prolonged drought, he appeared, watering her parched soil and breathing new life into her existence.

No wonder her scent resembled moonflowers and petrichor. If it wasn't for his nocturnal serenades, she would've continued to exist as an invisible, bright sphere of light. If it wasn't for him, she would've remained submerged in an endless, caliginous sprezzatura.

"Alarick," she called out softly. When he hummed in response, she continued, "Shall I teach you how to read next?"

There was a brief silence before his arms tightened around her. "Please. I shall be grateful."

Word count: 1239.

Total word count: 13569.

Alarick: *flirting* 

Accalia: wow, he's one remarkable, clever being.

*nudge, nudge* did you notice how I gave meaning to the mind-link werewolves have? I've always wondered why they have such power. So, I thought, why not come up with something? :p

MEANING OF THE WORDS USED:

Moonflowers: These special plants only bloom at night when the moon is out. They have a sweet, enchanting aroma which is best described as a cross between jasmine and vanilla. They symbolize romance as well as mystery. Since they bloom in the darkness, moonflowers are also symbols of the ability of beauty to emerge in dark times. Their nocturnal blooms are thought to evoke a sense of otherworldliness and enchantment, and they're often associated with femininity.

Petrichor: (n.) a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. Petrichor is the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil.

Caliginous: dark, misty, or gloomy.

Sprezzatura: (n.) studied carelessness/the ability to make one's actions seem effortless or to disguise one's true desire, feeling, or meaning.