AKIKO
The shower water runs pink, then clear, washing away three days of unconsciousness and the phantom taste of grey waters. I lean against the marble tile, letting heat work through muscles that feel simultaneously new and ancient. Steam rises thick enough to blur the glass walls, and with it, fox-fire dances along my skin in patterns I don't control yet—spirals of light that trace the path of water droplets down my body.
Through the glass door, I watch Giancarlo's silhouette. He hasn't left me alone since I woke, protective instincts cranked past reasonable. His presence fills the bathroom like smoke, heavy with unspoken need. The mate bond pulses between us, but there's something else now—a golden thread that tastes of power not meant for wolf bones, of my ninth tail singing in his
