Three months later, inside the Healing Hall, Dorian had paced back and forth outside the treatment room thirty-seven times already.
An elder of the Shadowspine Pack sat on the corridor bench and gestured for him to sit down. He leaned back against the wall reluctantly, yet he couldn't stay still for even three seconds before jumping to his feet again. His boots thudded heavily against the stone floor with every restless step.
His wolf soul thrashed wildly inside his chest, low growls trapped tight in his throat. His eyes were lined with bloodshot veins, and his jaw stayed locked in rigid tension.
Dorian said in a rough, hoarse tone, "I can't sit still."
The door swung open inward.
Dorian rushed forward at once, bracing both hands on the doorframe. "How is she?"
The doctor pulled off
