Blue.
That was the name Damien had insisted on calling her for the past two days.
When she’d asked why, he’d simply said, “It’s the color of your eyes,” with that maddening half-smile that made her wolf stir every single time.
Now, standing opposite him in the training field, one closer to the woods. Damien had said it would help ground her more. Aurora tried to focus on his voice instead of the way his shirt clung to his chest. The morning air was crisp, filled with the smell of pine and dew, but even that couldn’t drown out his scent—cedar, pine, and something that made her pulse stumble.
“Again, Blue,” he said, tone low but commanding. “Listen to your wolf. Don’t fight her—channel her.”
Right. Easy for him to say.
For the last two days, her life had been a whirlwind of blurred sou
