CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The sting of antiseptic bites into my senses, a harsh contrast to the softness of spring blossoms perfuming the mountain air. I wince but hold still, watching Kyle's hands move with practiced care over Love's injured leg. His fingers are gentle as they clean the wound, and I can't help but feel a pang of gratitude amidst the tension coiling in my stomach.
"Sorry, I know it hurts," Kyle murmurs, his voice a low baritone that somehow ripples through the silence like a calming balm. "But you'll be good as new in no time."
Love whimpers, her eyes closed, her face a mask of pain and trust. She doesn't speak, her wolf form too consumed by injury and fear to attempt shifting back into her human skin. My own fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, to offer comfort, but I
