Gideon did not move after she left.
The space where Henrietta had stood still burned against his senses, the bond stretched thin and aching like a wound that refused to close.
His wolf paced beneath his skin, furious and unsatisfied, not at her. But at him.
Because of his restraint. At the hesitation that had come a heartbeat too late.
The kiss still lingered on his mouth like a fault line he could feel but not undo, and for the first time in years, Gideon stood alone in his own territory with the unsettling certainty that control had not slipped from his graps.
He had released it.
That was the truth of it. And his wolf knew.
The beast inside him prowled the edges of his restraint, hackles raised, not snarling outward but turning inward, circling the moment again and again like a
