DEMI
I slept three hours, maybe. The rest of the night stayed awake inside my skin.
Whenever I closed my eyes, I was back on Maverick’s wolf, fingers buried in dark fur, wind tearing laughter out of me before I could think to hide it. Then the memory shifted. The caves opened black against the ridge. The air went stale and wrong. Rogue scent slid under my tongue like old blood and rot, and joy turned to something colder before I knew how to keep it.
I had smelled the rogues when Maverick did. Not faintly. Not like a human catching something unpleasant on the wind. I had known the direction before his body went still, and that was the part I could not stop replaying. Worse, I was almost certain his wolf had heard the small, strangled sound I made before I buried it. Add one suspicious
