L E I L A N I
It was Fenrir.
He was standing there, watching me with an unreadable expression. He had a canteen in his hand, and he held it out to me.
"Drink," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.
I stared at him, I wanted to slap the canteen out of his hand, to scream at him to leave me alone. But I was so thirsty and weak.
I took the canteen, my fingers brushing against his.
"Lyra sent you?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
"No," he said, his gaze fixed on me. "I felt your distress. I also heard you were giving her a hard time."
I stared at hi. He felt my distress? What did that even mean? Was it some kind of weird werewolf mate thing?
"You're tracking me?" I shot back, my anger flaring.
"I'm aware of you," he corrected me. "Always. It's a side effect of the bond. The more you fight
