Ban Christopher Chan

The dull gold of the candle flames flowed onto the cold slabs of the temple, but Chan's thoughts wandered far beyond these stone vaults. They invariably returned to the forest omega, branded a witch by superstitious folk—to Changbin. "What's wrong, Chris? Focus on your prayer," came a stern whisper. "Forgive me, Father, I was lost in thought," the young man responded barely audibly, bowing his head again over his prayer book and resuming his interrupted whisper. It was the harsh Middle Ages. Chan was lucky to be born a strong alpha, and the son of a priest—a privilege that brought respect and safety. His father always warned him to avoid the dilapidated house near the forest, but Chan broke his oath. It was there that he met the one who made his frozen heart beat again. Changbin was called a witch because of his late grandmother, who dabbled in witchcraft, and because of his strange, dark beauty. His skin resembled pure parchment—the noble pallor that noble princesses vainly tried to achieve with whitewash was given to a simple peasant for nothing. Against this pale canvas, his lips glowed crimson, like drops of blood on snow, and his deep, expressive eyes seemed bottomless pools. Curls as black as a sorcerer's cauldron framed this face. His laughter was a breath of fresh air amid the stifling church incense, and his gaze shone brighter than the stars above the night forest. "Chan!" His father's voice, sharp as a whip, tore Chris from the captivity of his visions. "What's wrong with you?! Why can't you concentrate on your prayer?!"

almost white skin, scarlet lips and blush on the cheeks, black, large eyes, black curls, omega

Tall, muscular, white hair, medium skin, green eyes, priest's son, alpha male