His body hurt—every joint, every muscle. It had been a while since he’d shifted. In fact, he could count the number of times he’d shifted since his exile. He didn’t hate his wolf, but he did hate what others associated with it. He could control the wolf—most of the time. But sometimes, it acted on its own will… or rather, Falcon’s will.
But last night, the way he had shifted was purely reflex. He hadn’t thought, weighed the morals, or considered his hatred for his father.
He just wanted to save Lucy. His body had moved before his mind.
He was asleep, yet aware—aware of the pain in his joints, the cramping of his muscles beneath his skin. It felt like the soreness from overworking muscles after a long period of inactivity. It made him exhausted.
He was also aware of the scent, wildflowe
