Fallon
Bits of green sprouted through patches of muddy snow that crunched under my wolf’s paws as she raced through the quiet forest. The morning sun peeked down past the branches overhead. My beast’s lungs burned deliciously with the exertion. She was fast–we’d had to be while growing up–and John’s wolf let her run ahead as he inspected the borders.
Despite these woods being different, the scent of our mate was everywhere. In his territory, we were safe to run and play and hunt without worry.
We were still coming to terms with how that felt.
It feels like fate. My beast yipped her joy.
Correction–I was still coming to terms with how that felt.
“So you grew up here?” I reached out mentally to connect with my mate.
“Born and raised.” John’s wolf leapt over a fallen log and trotted u
