Azalea found him pacing at the edge of the Rosario territory impatiently.
Brooding.
Upset.
She’d only ever seen him upset, she realized.
They’d met at a bad time. The worst time for him, really. Nothing but mayhem had ensued in his life from the moment she’d met him and she’d found herself incapable of helping in any way.
When the jaguar’s head snapped up, it’s yellow eyes landing on the young elf, she could see the tension in its shoulders, hear the low rumble in its chest.
A growl, almost.
And then it climbed the nearest tree.
To avoid her, it seemed.
Something in Azalea’s chest ached but she couldn’t blame him for being wary.
Distant.
Backwards, even.
When her parents died, she’d reacted similarly. Only then, she’d had the luxury of time to herself. A
