Chapter 13
My wolf had never stirred for Daxon, not the way she had for Tristan. But I'd convinced myself that the frantic flutter of my heart around him was enough, that the way he made me feel special and chosen was love. How wrong I'd been.
"And?" Tristan's voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the underlying tension.
"And he was perfect. He took me to this little Italian restaurant I'd mentioned loving once in passing. He remembered that I preferred red wine over white, that I was lactose intolerant, that I had a weakness for tiramisu even though it would make me sick later. He seemed to hang on every word I said, like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met."
I'm back there now, in that dimly lit restaurant, feeling special and wanted and chosen. The way Daxon had
