Ryker Silverfang had not slept properly in four nights because the bond did not allow it.
He stood alone on the balcony outside his quarters, watching the mountains turn pale under early morning light. Snow dusted the stone rail beneath his hands, and cold air filled his lungs, but it did nothing to quiet the restless energy inside him.
His wolf paced endlessly beneath his skin because it wanted Mira.
The instinct was not romantic. It was older than love and stronger than reason. It was a pull rooted in blood, instinct, and something sacred that neither of them had chosen.
Ryker tightened his grip on the railing. “I will not force her,” he said aloud.
His wolf did not agree. Inside the stronghold, the day began with responsibility.
Responsibility helped, responsibility distracted him
