WILLOW'S POV.
Atlas didn’t answer. He didn't leave either.
He stood there, half-shadowed under the trees, moonlight glinting off the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes stayed on me — searching, too intense for comfort. I could almost feel him peeling back my defenses one by one, looking for something I didn’t want him to find. And I hated it.
When he finally spoke, his tone had changed. It wasn’t sharp or commanding anymore. It was lower, softer — almost careful.
“You seem irritated with me. Mind if I know why that is?”
“I’m not irritated with you,” I said quickly. "Nothing is wrong, alpha." The words came out even, but my body betrayed me. My shoulders were stiff, my arms crossed too tightly over my chest. I forced myself to relax, unclenching my jaw, pretending I didn’t care. But I kne
