For days, I noticed something strange.
The scent that had haunted me since Cecilia’s death, the soft and wild fragrance of wild rose and rain was gone.
Completely gone.
I tried to ignore it at first, convincing myself it meant the curse had faded, that maybe her spirit had finally moved on. But deep down, I knew better. It wasn’t peace I felt. It was emptiness. My wolf stirred uneasily within me, pacing, restless. His low growl rumbled through my chest. We can’t scent her.
“I know,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my heart. The mark there felt cold now, lifeless, as though whatever bound me to her had loosened. We should find her scent again, my wolf urged, his voice rough and desperate.
“Find her? She’s dead.”
He growled louder this time, his voice bleeding into my thoughts Then why
