Devon James Pov
Ever since Eleanor’s outburst in the study, sleep had become an illusion I could no longer afford. Not because I didn’t want it. But because it simply refused to come. My body would lie in bed, but my mind remained a storm. Awake. Grinding. Gnawing.
I was unravelling.
Restless.
But the strange part was that my wolf wasn’t.
At least, not in the way I expected. He wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t fighting me to shift or take over. He was still. Quiet. Watching.
Agitated, yes. But calm in the way a predator crouches in tall grass, eyes locked on prey. Waiting. Hungry.
I’d never seen him like this before, composed, but seething beneath the surface. A quiet madness. Like he was waiting for something… or someone.
And I knew exactly what had cracked him open like this.
The reject
