Ruby’s POV
Tyler shifts back.
It isn’t graceful.
One moment he’s a wolf forcing pace, forcing rhythm, forcing the road not to notice how badly it’s carving him up. The next, fur peels away into skin and breath, and he drops hard to the ground.
He catches himself on one knee with his palm in the dirt. His breath drags in sharp and shallow. His jaw stays clenched.
The experienced wolves carrying our supplies angle inward, backs lowering smoothly.
I’m already there.
My wolf dips low, teeth closing gently around a folded length of dark cloth that smells like smoke and old camp. I carry it to him instinctively, padding close and lifting my head just enough to offer it.
Tyler’s eyes flick to me.
For a heartbeat, the calculation cracks.
He reaches out without thinking, fingers pressing
