Devon’s POV
I excused myself, muttering something about the cut.
Not because I gave a damn about the bleeding no.
But because I couldn’t risk anyone seeing the way the skin was already stitching itself together under the blood.
Too fast. Too unnatural.
Too… wolf.
Franco was on my heels before I even made it to the hallway.
Always f*****g watching me like a hawk.
"Devon.."
"Not now," I growled.
Pushed through the side door, into the private restroom off the gala floor.
The door slammed shut behind us.
My hands were shaking as I gripped the sink, blood dripping from between my fingers.
I met my reflection face pale, eyes too bright, pulse thrumming like a war drum in my throat.
Franco hovered near the door, voice low but firm.
"You’re losing grip."
I snarled, whipping around.
