But nothing. Not a whiff. Not a spark.
Could we be mateless?
The question haunted me more than I cared to admit.
Ira, my wolf, growled in irritation. He always did when I entertained that thought. We are not mateless, he snapped for the thousandth time.
And deep down, I believed him. I felt her absence. Like a space carved out in my chest, waiting to be filled. A puzzle missing its last piece. And I knew—knew—she was out there. Somewhere.
So why hadn’t we found her?
“You’re brooding again,” Robert said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs, watching me from the kitchen island with a knowing look.
“Am not.”
“You are. You get this faraway look like a romantic poet who just realized his muse ghosted him.”
“Better than looking like someone who got body-checked by a raccoon.”
“It was a
