Wesley paced the length of his bedroom like a caged wolf.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The plush carpet beneath his bare feet did nothing to soften the storm raging inside him. His chest still felt wrong… tight, hollow, as if something vital had been torn away without warning.
The pain had dulled since last night, but the aftershock lingered, an echo he couldn’t silence. His wolf was unusually quiet.
Too quiet. ‘Hey, Vega. You there?’
Wesley dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply. What the hell was that? No enemy attack. No spell he could sense. No physical wound.
And yet… he had collapsed like a novice omega.
Behind him, fabric rustled.
“Wesley, darling,” Delilah purred.
He turned halfway, distracted. She stood near the bed in a revealing silk
