Almost an hour later, he arrived. Wesley had always loved his grandmama’s manor, an old, ivy-covered estate sitting quietly at the forest’s edge. Yet that late afternoon, as he walked through the wrought-iron gates, he felt none of the comfort it normally brought him. His chest was tight, his wolf restless, pacing in circles inside him.
‘Something is wrong,’ Vega growled.
“Quiet,” Wesley muttered under his breath. “We’re not here for trouble.”
‘Then, why does your heart hurt?’ Wesley ignored the question.
The butler guided him through the halls and out to the back garden, where the sun shine over the polished marble paths. His Grandmama Loretta sat beneath a flowering arch of bloom roses, pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups. Her silver hair was pinned neatly, her eyes ge
