A few minutes before midnight, I slip my jacket over my shoulders, the fabric rustling softly in the silver moonlight filtering through the window. I watch Ariah for a beat, careful not to wake her. Her breathing is steady and rhythmic, the gentle rise and fall of her chest the only thing breaking the stillness of the room. It’s odd how even that tiny movement triggers my awareness now.
These werewolf senses are going to take some getting used to.
As I toe my way toward the door, I can’t shake the prickle of being watched. An uneasy chill crawls up the back of my neck, forcing me to glance over my shoulder. My empty bed looms in the shadows—a silent, dark reminder of the girl who was brutally murdered right where I’m supposed to sleep. I let out a shaky breath, wondering how long it’ll b
