SCARLET’S POV
A sigh of relief fell from my lips, as I stared at my painting with glossy eyes, and a hint of pride. I was allowed that much pride. I finished the drawing an hour before sunrise.
It wasn't much, just a red wolf rendered in charcoal and the cheap colored pencils I'd bought from the campus store, but it was the truest thing I'd made in years.
I'd only seen her once, my wolf, on the night I first shifted, before my father's hands and Elena's need turned that memory into something I tried not to visit. But I remembered her amber eyes. I remembered the size of her, the way she'd looked back at me like she already knew everything I didn't.
She was the red wolf.
I packed the drawing carefully between two sheets of cardstock, the way you'd carry something alive, and went to
