I still don't, but I wouldn't be completely honest if I said I didn't wish Denver were put on opposite patrol shifts to Stevie.
The earth flies beneath my paws, cool soil and crushed pine needles brushing against my pads. My lungs burn in that good way—hot, alive. The moon is half-hidden behind clouds, silver light glinting through the canopy as I tear through the forest.
Fifteen minutes of running, just me and the sound ofthe wind. It’s the only time I feel completely centered—when my wolf and I move as one.
Then the air shifts.
My wolf halts mid-stride, head jerking up, nose twitching. A familiar scent threads through the night—warm, sharp, and utterly distracting. Stevie.
Before I even consciously recognize it, my wolf does. His ears perk, his tail lifts, and a low, eager rumble vi
