MAVERICK
I stood outside Demi’s door too long. Long enough for my wolf to lose patience. Long enough for me to imagine every bad ending: her packing, regretting, deciding Black Mountain was all teeth and no mercy. Behind the door, her scent was thin—soap, nerves, sugar, and something faintly bitter I could not name. It made my wolf press closer, restless and certain she was hurting where we could not reach.
Knock, my wolf said, dry as old bone. You lead warriors into battle, and now a closed door has you defeated?
I ignored him. Mostly. The truth was worse than the teasing. I did not want to frighten her again. Not with my scars, my pack, or the old hatred I still carried like a blade I had forgotten how to set down.
She came here anyway, my wolf said, quieter now. Give her somethin
