The woods are different at night.
Trees are more than trees and dirt and shadow. The world is breathing. Waiting. Watching.
Vera’s silk robe is long gone—substituted for leather pants and a tight top she pilfered from a closet she’d sworn to avert her eyes from. She doesn’t run this time.
She stalks.
She’s not even sure why. Just that her blood is humming, her skin crawling, her thighs still slick with what Rael’s wolf did—didn’t do—to her in the circle.
And she needs to see him again.
She needs to look him in the eye and make him explain what the hell is happening to her.
Every step deeper into the woods is another plunge into the downpour of scent. Pine sap. Wolf musk. Ghosts of fur and dirt and s*x clinging to her skin like ash. The collar pulses—not in pain. Not pleasure.
Antic
