Corin moved.
He did not stand. He had heard her, he had heard her exactly, and the last thing in this clearing he was going to do was rise up to his full height over a woman holding her own child against her chest. So he moved the only way he could move.
He shifted his weight forward onto his hands and his knees, and he crawled.
It was not graceful. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, in heavy boots and a coat that was much too thick for spring, and there was nothing dignified about a Vargan Alpha advancing on his hands and knees through the long wet grass of a forest clearing toward his own mate.
He did not care.
He moved slowly. Inch by inch. He kept his head bowed. He kept his palms open and visible against the moss in front of him with every shift of weight. His eyes — gold-rimme
