[Isolde]
By the time we arrived at the shaman’s place, the gate was locked tight.
We knocked. And knocked. For at least half an hour, my knuckles growing sore against the weathered metal, I kept trying. Beside me, Nikolai sat rigid in his wheelchair, his gaze fixed on the wall surrounding the property. I watched his jaw work, his hands flexing against the armrests, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
He was contemplating jumping over it. Scaling that wall the way he would have done before with such swift and effortless grace—his werewolf strength making short work of any obstacle.
But his legs wouldn’t let him.
The realization stayed on his face and something in my chest twisted painfully. I looked away quickly, pretending I hadn’t noticed. The last thing he needed was my pity. T
