Remy
The room had just narrowed to the length of Holland’s breath and the warm line of my hand at her back when the front door announced trouble like a trumpet.
“Oh, Remy, you look just as dashing as last I saw you!”
The music didn’t stop so much as stagger. Conversations hiccuped, then tried to carry on. I closed my eyes for a beat—one beat—long enough to put the wolf back behind his better instincts and give the man the wheel.
I turned with Holland still in my arm. She tightened—just a fraction—but I felt it like a struck wire. Her scent shifted: heat, salt, the clean, bright edge that meant anger had found her, and behind it a sharper note she didn’t try to hide—jealousy flaring because the bond is honest with or without your permission.
Angel stood in the foyer as if the house had
