Dane:
I hadn’t meant to follow.
That was the lie I told myself as I stalked through the southern line, shadows catching on my boots, blood from the earlier fight still tacky across my knuckles. My wolf had been restless, snarling inside me, dragging me toward her. Always toward her.
I told myself I was just checking the perimeter. That I wasn’t chasing the sound of her laugh, or the scent of her fear, or the steady rhythm of Dominic’s growls wrapped around her like armor.
But then I saw them.
Cierra, her dagger slick with blood, chest heaving, standing in the ruins of three rogues like she was carved straight out of fire and defiance. And Dominic—gods, Dominic—pressed close to her side, his massive wolf form leaning in, muzzle brushing her wrist as if he’d earned the right to touch he
