I stared at the message, my wolf whining with the need to respond, to run to him, to let him protect me from the threats closing in from all sides.
Instead, I deleted the message and walked back to my desk.
But as I sat down, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. That somewhere in the building, predators were circling, waiting for me to make a mistake.
The afternoon dragged on. I tried to focus on the Blackstone analysis, but my mind kept drifting to Vanessa's threats, to Christian's text, to the growing certainty that I was in way over my head.
At five thirty, I started packing up my things. Maybe I could slip out through the parking garage, avoid any more confrontations, and figure out my next move from the safety of my apartment.
I was almost to the ele
