Alexander’s POV
The wind on the front steps of Blackwood Manor was a physical force, a wall of ice and snow that tried to shove me back inside.
I didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel the bite of the sub-zero temperature through my dress shirt. I didn’t feel the snow melting against the heat of my skin. The only thing I felt was the furnace burning in my chest, a white-hot amalgamation of panic, fury, and a terrifying, hollow ache that felt suspiciously like heartbreak.
She ran, Titus snarled, pacing the length of my mind, his claws scoring deep grooves into my psyche. She ran from the den. She ran from us.
She didn’t run, I corrected, descending the stone stairs two at a time, my boots finding purchase on the slick granite with supernatural precision. She went to get a burger. It’s an act of
