Estelle's POV
I nodded, understanding immediately.
In the world of wolves, "complicated" usually means only one thing—it means two people have already crossed lines, tangled teeth, and whatever lies between them is far from over.
I glanced through the glass. Theron stood there, his breathing steady, as if nothing in the world could touch him.
But my wolf stirred, faintly—like it sensed something I couldn't yet name.
As the yacht pulled away from shore, I felt it—not with my eyes, but with instinct.
The low vibration of the engines thrummed up through the deck, traveling from the soles of my feet into my bones. The sea breeze carried salt and metal, sharp and cold, like some massive creature slowly baring its teeth in the dark.
Dante and I stepped back onto the deck. Inside the cabin
