The drive home from the Kingsley pack house was a quiet one, the SUV's tires crunching over the fresh layer of snow that had fallen during the party. January nights in Wyoming could be brutal, biting cold that seeped through even the heated leather seats, but Elias kept the warmth cranked high, his hand occasionally squeezing mine on the center console. Our bond thrummed softly between us, a steady pulse of reassurance after my brief bout of nausea at the celebration.
The roads were slick with ice, headlights cutting through the darkness like golden beams from his eyes, and I was grateful for his careful driving. Aiden, our five-year-old whirlwind, dozed in the back seat, his toy sword clutched tightly in his small hands, golden eyes closed in exhausted slumber. The poor kid had run h
