MAVERICK
By evening, I had stood outside Demi’s door twice and nearly lost the argument with my wolf both times. The first time had been right after she fled the training hall. I knocked until my knuckles ached, saying her name through the wood while every instinct in me demanded I break the lock and reach whatever pain I could smell on the other side. My wolf did not understand closed doors between mates. He understood danger, distress, and the maddening certainty that she was hurting where I could not get to her.
Break it down, he snarled, throwing himself against my ribs. She is ours. She is scared. I almost listened. My hand closed around the handle hard enough to bend metal before I forced myself to let go. I had promised Demi space. If I turned concern into a cage the first time
