He stood in the steaming water longer than necessary, the liquid pounding over his shoulders, trailing down his back, and yet he could not shake the sensation that something wasn’t right. There was a stirring inside him—subtle at first, then insistent—the low growl of his inner wolf, restless, pacing.
It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t lust. It was something darker. Something he hadn’t felt since the battlefield—bloodlust.
He cursed silently as he dried himself off and dressed swiftly, the irritation mounting rather than ebbing.
He had a duty: breakfast with River and her family. A simple task, one he should have managed with poise. But from the moment he entered the dining hall and sat beside River, something in him coiled tightly.
The air itself felt wrong, too warm, too close.
The roo
