My beast stirred, clearly not satisfied.
It wasn’t gentle, not a slow waking—it was a force, raw and insistent, clawing at the walls of my control. My wolf wanted her. Needed her.
Every part of me did.
I sat up, running a hand through my hair, the memory of her scent lingering at the edges of my mind. It was maddening how easily it overpowered my senses, how it lingered like an addiction I couldn’t shake. She wasn’t even here, and yet her presence was everywhere—in the way my chest ached, in the burning need that twisted low in my stomach, in the restless energy that made sitting still impossible.
“f**k,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I stood.
The wolf pushed harder, growling in frustration. It wanted to see her. Smell her. Touch her. And if I was being honest with my
