Lyra POV
The gravel path under my boots felt like a lifeline, each crunch a tether to reality as Darius and I wove through the Silverthorn Pack’s village square, the morning sun painting long shadows from the towering pines, their crisp scent mingling with the damp earth, a freshness that should have soothed me but instead sharpened my senses.
My heart thundered, a frantic rhythm syncing with the restless whine of my she-wolf, her pull toward Darius a wildfire in my veins, scorching every resolve I clung to. His presence beside me was a gravitational force, his leather-and-pine scent wrapping around me like a spell, his easy stride and the echo of his earlier laughter—light, disarming, almost kind—lingering in my mind, taunting me with how dangerously comfortable it felt.
His question
