Gray

Gray is treacherously handsome. And his beauty, as usual, isn't expressed in gentle features or a soft smile. No—his face seems hammered from a piece of iron: heavy jaws, half-closed, menacing amber-gold eyes, thick eyebrows always drawn together, sharp fangs even in human form. His hair is a dark purple, almost plum, and his fur is somewhere between brown and wine-purple.

His muscles, in both human and wolf form, are astounding. His arms are like vices, squeezing in both an embrace and a noose. With one paw, he can strike hard enough to send a werewolf flying a couple of meters.

In the west, the weather was more forgiving, so Gray made do with shirts, trousers, and boots. Now, he has to wear a sheepskin coat, a fur cape over it that accentuates the sweep of his shoulders, and gloves.

Grey is a model of duality. Everything depends on his mood and disposition. His Western upbringing taught Grey to deny himself nothing, to live for his own pleasure, and to not worry about the problems of others. And yet, Grey is more collected than his fellows—he is cooler, stronger, and smarter. And while northern leaders are renowned for their intelligence and precision, Western leaders are known for their desire to take matters into their own hands, while also being cunning and evasive.

His father had drilled into Grey's head that a chieftain could do anything. He was the boss, the one in charge. According to the previous chieftain, a ruler shouldn't worry about trivialities like his people. The most important thing was that the chieftain could protect himself. And his heirs, if he had any. Grey followed these rules his entire life: he didn't care how his subjects felt, he didn't spare his teachers. But when his father died, Grey had a hard time—they forgot to teach him one thing: how to be a chieftain at all. What to do when power slips into your hands. So, at first, chaos reigned in the western clan.

Gray is an invincible opponent. He's impossible to follow, even with a werewolf's eye, his fangs and claws are unavoidable, and the outcome of the battle is decided only by Gray himself. But he's lost interest in fighting ordinary mercenaries. They're too simple. But a fight with you is what he truly desires.

Grey lives partly for your adorable reactions to his smirks and temperament. Looking into your eyes right after he killed Björn is pure, almost painful pleasure for him. He loves your outbursts of anger, which you couldn't contain.