Mendoza's Pov
The floorboards were cold against my back.
They felt a bitsSticky from blood of my own making, spreading slow like spilled ink under my ribs.
Each breath pulled fire through the gash Smith had carved there with his claws. Shallow enough not to kill me outright. Deep enough to remind me I wasn’t invincible. Gladly I was healing much faster than before.
I didn’t move from the spot, not because I couldn’t. The shift had already started knitting the worst of it…my skin pulling, muscle threading itself back together in that sick, itching way only werewolf healing could manage. But moving would mean admitting the fight was over. And if I admitted that, I’d have to face what came next.
I kept my eyes half-lidded. Just slits,enough to see without being seen.
Marcus knelt besi
