The first thing I see is blood.
Not mine, thank the Moon. Not yet.
It’s smeared across the grass beneath my window, dark and slick and steaming in the night air. Then I see him, Nathan, half-shifted, on one knee, his chest heaving like he’s been running from hell itself.
For half a heartbeat, I think this is some kind of fever dream. Then he lifts his head.
Our eyes meet, and that familiar pull, that cursed bond, burns through me again, hotter and sharper than ever.
“Nathan?” My voice sounds too small. Too human.
He doesn’t answer, just sways on his feet before collapsing against the side of the house.
“Oh, fantastic.” I mutter. “The murderous Alpha bleeding out in my yard. Because my life wasn’t dramatic enough.”
I grab his arm, solid muscle and fever-hot, and half-dragged, half-h
