(Mayra's POV)
Rayla would not stop pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like prey trying to outrun its own heartbeat. Her scent was sharp with panic, and her hands trembled every time she ran them through her hair. I watched her from the center of her mind—fur bristled, tail flicking, claws digging into the ground of our shared bond-space. You’re spiraling, I told her flatly. “I’m not,” she snapped aloud, pacing harder. You are, I corrected. And poorly. She glared at the empty room instead of at me. “I just…need space.” From what? Him? Yourself? Me? “All of it!” I growled. Explain this to me, Rayla. You have been stubborn since the day you turned eighteen. You refused chosen Mates. You rejected every offer. You said you would ACCEPT NOTHING except a Fated Mate. Her shoulders tensed. “
