Dirge
I
could smell the nervousness and tension in my mate’s usually lovely floral scent. Now that I had been smelling it longer—or perhaps, now that the man was steadily rising back to the surface—I was certain it was freesia. And pomegranate, maybe. Delectable, except for the hint of uncharacteristic sourness.
I kept close to her side as we stepped off the aircraft—a whole new and not entirely pleasant experience in wolf form when I couldn’t chug water to relieve the pressure on my ears—but she didn’t have to ask. I wasn’t leaving her side ever again, unless she sent me away.
She might, if she couldn’t adjust to me staying in wolf form. I was still excitedly awaiting the first time she shifted, so that our wolves could meet. We’d be on equal footing for the first time. But those thou
