I was not trying to forge a new bond.
I was trying to destroy an existing one.
But my eyes — my traitorous, undisciplined eyes — had drifted back to the woman on the bed without my permission. They traced the line of her closed lashes. The bridge of her nose. The small curve of her ear. And then — god help me — the damp swell of her lower lip, still trembling from whatever nightmare was eating her alive.
"Are you sure about that?" My wolf's voice slid through the dark like a blade — low, unhurried, edged with something possessive enough to draw blood.
And for one disorienting heartbeat, I genuinely couldn't tell what he was asking.
Was I sure I could keep pretending I didn't see how vulnerable she looked right now? Or was I sure I could keep ignoring the fact that something inside me
