CONNOR POV
By midday, I’d managed to stress Anne so much she was on the verge of quitting.
She told me so. Twice.
Apparently, asking for updates every twenty minutes was “unhealthy and borderline harassment.” Her words. Not mine.
But how the hell was I supposed to relax?
I’d barely slept. My wolf was pacing under my skin like a caged beast, claws scratching, growls building low in my chest whenever my thoughts drifted back to her. Grace. The name alone made my pulse skip, made Cain push harder at the edges of my control.
She was supposed to be safe. That’s all that mattered.
But last night’s trail—the sulfur, the metallic tang in the air, that vanishing scent at the lake—still haunted me.
So, yes. I was calling Anne every twenty minutes. Sue me.
“Connor,” she’d said the last time,
