Every touch gave a spark, a flicker. But it was empty. My body knew the truth. My wolf knew the truth. This heat wasn’t meant for my hands. It was meant for him. Without Vincent, without his touch, without the bond being met, the blaze only grew fiercer. I clenched my teeth, frustration cracking out as a sob. My body shook, but the release never came.
“Damn it,” I whispered hoarsely, clawing at the quilt until stitches snapped beneath my nails.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes. The fire blurred time until nothing existed but agony. My chest heaved, breath catching, sweat cooling on my bare skin only to be replaced by more. My wolf whimpered in the back of my mind, fading. She had no strength left but the single, maddening plea: “Mate. Go to your mate”
“No,” I rasped. “I won’t crawl. I won
