I hate breaking a chapter in two like this, but seriously? The next chapter is getting ridiculously long because so MUCH DRAMA is happening (you really, really won't like it :x). So I took this scene out of it because it is an important scene. It introduces Saverio, finally. I've dropped a few hints as to who he actually is in previous chapters (some hints not so subtle...) but this is a formal introduction of Saverio. The next chapter is more than halfway done. But here's some more NU for now :) Enjoy!

Morndas, 1st of Evening Star, 4E201

My Beloved Brother and Alpha,

Events are moving faster than we anticipated, dear brother, and in ways that we did not foresee. We were correct in saying that the Black-Coats were weak-willed and even weaker-minded, but I fear there is a fly in the ornament. The fabled Dragonborn has made himself comfortable in Black-Coat territory, and our original plan of having Ritta take Ivor as her puppet-mate lies in jeopardy; the Dragonborn may be able to see through our plan and discover Ritta's true purpose. Just today, she visited Tangled-Knot Crag—how I hate it here—and together, we may have thought of a possible solution to this problem.

It is no secret to me that Vidar, useless as he is, has grown fond of a certain Black-Coat female, Garald's eldest daughter. In my last letter to you, I detailed her 'heroic' rescue of Idiot Vidar from an even more idiotic mammoth. It seems that she has captured Vidar's attentions. Were it up to me, I'd have her dragged to you. As I stated before, she'd make a splendid addition to your harem, as I know you have no female with hair as black as midnight and eyes as pale as a frozen lake.

But I digress, dearest brother.

Were the Tangled-Knots to visit the Black-Coats, they would provide a distraction to both Garald and the Dragonborn. Ritta agreed to this idea, and the plan has already been set in motion. Vidar and his hunting troupe have left today to visit the Black-Coats, bringing with them smoked meats. What Vidar does not know is that the meats have been tampered beforehand, coated with an odorless, flavorless poison that severely irritates bowel movement. After Ritta explained the idea to Reinhart and me, we were only too eager to oblige.

I have suspicions, though, that there may be another obstacle in our way. Ritta has made it known that one of her pack members, a servant girl with hair as red as the inferno but with a personality as docile as a lamb, has caught Ivor's eye. It is very likely that this girl may foil Ritta's plans. If that is the case, we must adjust and possibly exempt Ritta from our plans, brother. She is but a pawn after all, just like her father, and is easily disposable. I leave such decisions in your hands and will always do what you wish.

Or, perhaps we can add this servant girl to your harem as well, Saverio. You are fascinated with breaking and dominating after all, dearest brother.

I hope to hear from you soon. These Tangled-Knots lack class and proper etiquette. I dream of the day when I can return to you in Silorn.

Your Faithful,

Lavinia

The Ayleid ruin of Silorn, once refuge for necromancers affiliated with the infamous Mannimarco, now served as den for necromancers affiliated with the infamous lycanthropy. Sometime in the Third Era, after Mannimarco had been defeated, the Mages Guild had seen to destroying the ruin, toppling statues and burying the entrance. The Mages had hoped to wipe its existence from the history records, for such a dark place full of darker deeds should never be remembered.

But alas, they had failed, and their failure would be recognized as an opportunity in the Fourth Era for werewolves to call Silorn home. The Ayleid marble had survived underground, and with it, Silorn's purpose had been preserved; Silorn had and always would be sanctuary to necromancers.

No matter how stalwart the marble was, no matter how many tons of earth encumbered it, the marble could not deafen the sounds of squeals and moans coming from the Alpha's chambers.

Saverio held the girl by the hip and shoulder, his body bent over hers while his mind was elsewhere. The way she tensed her muscles was lost on him; the ways she closed her eyes and dug her fingers into the cold marble floor weren't seen by him; the way she gasped whenever he increased his pace was deaf to his ears.

She was plain looking, this young thing that had only just become a woman, but with dark hair and pale skin that he fancied marring. And so he did, because he was Saverio, and she but a whelp condemned to servitude and obeisance; he was Saverio, Alpha and Master Necromancer who was feared by all in his pack, and for anyone to disobey him—

Well, he thought as he knotted his fingers in the girl's hair and yanked her head back, there is always the need for another thrall to make undead.

Scrapes and scratches lined the girl's shoulder, back, bottom, and legs—red rivulets trickling down snow white. He grinned, all fangs and gums. With his eyes closed and head thrown back, he saw himself rutting her: black hair, white skin, blue eyes. She was the promised Alpha, deadly and unyielding.

But I—will make her bend to me—and she will—break.

With his eyes closed and head thrown back, he could see the Black-Coats destroyed, the Tangled-Knots his, Hircine's Sentinel delivering his every wish, and the Thalmor put in their rightful place: as thralls. All the while with Garald's daughter on her hands and knees beneath him.

Sa-ver-io—al-way-s—wins—in—the—end—

His fantasy was disrupted, his orgasm pierced like an arrow through a skull, when black hair turned into wisps of gold, pale skin became supple, soft, and unmarked, and eyes turned as blue and bright as a lake glittering with sunlight. His mouth opened to cry out, to scream, to banish the image from his mind, but instead, his arms had wrapped around the person under him, pulling the girl tight while hands caressed and knuckles brushed against her breasts. Hips bucked faster, body eager as the scent of alkanets filled his nose, and whimpers spilled from his lips.

He didn't know when he had turned her over so she was on her back, his body flush against hers while hands cradled her face and lips devoured hers—things he hadn't been able to do when she was alive.

When he flung his eyes open, he was panting atop a young thing with dark hair and brown eyes. His orgasm soured by the sight, he growled and strode to collect his robe from the floor.

The girl panted and trembled, sweat matting her hair to her neck. She didn't dare move—not without her Alpha's permission. And yet, something he had done intrigued her, made her bold and brought forth youthful curiosity. Her eyes followed her Alpha, and after wetting her lips, cringing when she tasted him on them, she murmured, "S-sir?"

"You are done here," he said without looking at her, too busy adjusting the collar of his robes. "See yourself out."

She pushed herself up, finding her voice again. "A-are you well, s-sir?"

Saverio huffed and contemplated tying the girl's tongue in a knot. He thought better of it; he followed a philosophy that went along the lines of, If you wouldn't do it to your sister, don't do it to anyone else. Instead, he turned his head and cocked a brow. "What are you blathering on about?"

"Y-you," she started while covering her breasts with her hair, "y-you called me 'Arial.'" When her Alpha's eyes widened so his pupils were the size of quill tips, she hurried to salvage the moment. "I-is she another member of the pack, sir? I-I can go fetch her for you, and you can—"

"Fetch." The word was a hiss, but his lips were pulled tight into a smile. He took a step closer to her. "Fetch." Another step. "FETCH!" He loomed over her and let his laughter echo off of the marble walls. Giving her but a moment to brace herself, he swooped so he was nose to nose with her. Minutes before, his fingers had been worshipping her, but now they dug into the shoulders of this young thing. "Do you think yourself so clever, my dear?" A knuckle brushed against her cheek, and still that smile remained.

She tried to speak, but his hand clamped around her throat.

"No," he said more to himself. "You will never speak of her again." A dazzling smile, and then his fingers started humming with magicka.

And within minutes, after the screams and wailing had ceased, she was a pile of ash underneath him.

Just as dead as his poor, sweet, beautiful Arial.

Poor Arial who was nothing but a corpse with skin preserved by his own magic and varla stones.

Sweet Arial whose lips were still rosy even in death.

Beautiful Arial with gold spun into hair, the sea captured in her eyes, and the light of the sun emanating from her skin.

His Arial, hidden from the world in Silorn, resting atop a stone slab in the ruin's underbelly. Varla stones surrounding her, alkanet flowers in her lifeless hands, veins of magicka pulsing over her body, preserving her. His Arial, resting beside his latest prize stolen from another werewolf pack far to the north in Skyrim. His Arial, resting beside his latest prize, a werewolf, with a name etched onto a gold collar. His Arial, resting beside his latest prize, Romulus, promised Alpha of the Ghost-Howl pack that lives far to the north in Skyrim.

His Arial, dead.