He held clothes in his hands.
His dark cold eyes were fixed on me, thunder gathering behind them.
“Thanks.” The word tasted like ash.
I tore my gaze from him. Didn’t trust my face not to crack open under the weight of everything still clawing inside me. I just pressed my lips tight, muttered the barest gratitude, and took the folded clothes from his hands.
Then I shut the bathroom door in his face.
The latch clicked.
I dressed quickly. When I stepped out, fully clothed, he was still there. Leaning near the doorway.
Waiting.
My mouth tightened, my wolf flattened her ears. I had no strength left for him tonight.
So I walked past him as if he were nothing but furniture and headed for the stairs.
“Was this wedding your idea,” he said behind me, his voice low, “or Grandma’s?”
My step
