Steel’s bike roared through backstreets, city lights bleeding into the night like veins of fire. His heart pounded—not from the ride, but from his destination. He had faced warlords, monsters, even dragons without flinching, but this rattled him.
Asher Jones. His mate. His weakness. His wound that never healed.
He slowed on a quieter street, his motorbike’s hum echoing against old homes. Her scent met him before the house: sweet, fox, memory, desire, pain. His bear snarled inside, clawing to reach her.
Her door creaked open as if she had felt him coming. Asher stood in the dim light of the hallway, hair falling loose around her face, her fox aura shimmering faintly at the edges. Her eyes widened, sharp green orbs reflecting surprise, relief—and sorrow.
“Steel…” she breathed, voice crac
