Drake
Vera was snoring when I left. For someone who looked angelic in her sleep, she was snoring with her mouth slightly open, one arm thrown across my pillow like she was trying to hold it down. Her curls were a disaster across her face, though I should be blamed for that.
I stood in the doorway watching her for longer than I should have.
I regretted that I had to leave her. Every part of me did. My wolf especially, who had spent the last hour pacing my chest like a caged thing, furious that I was pulling on a shirt instead of climbing back into that bed and pulling her closer.
She needed sleep. She had earned it. If I stayed another ten minutes, I would wake her up, and then neither of us would sleep at all.
That was the logic I used to talk myself out of the room.
I wrote the note
