Taryn
I hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
Not since Jax laid me down beneath the thick veil of ferns and promised he’d come back. My muscles screamed with the urge to shift, to run, to do something—but I couldn’t. I was too weak, the wolfsbane still dragging through my blood like a curse. And worse, I was afraid.
Afraid that if I moved, no one would be able to find me. That Caz would come for me and I’d be gone. That Jax would return to nothing but broken brush and a cold trail.
So I lay there, curled against the dirt and roots, every sound sharpening my nerves like glass.
Time had become meaningless—just the rise and fall of my ragged breaths and the pounding of my heart.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
I tensed, body locking up as leaves rustled beneath a heavy, deliberate gait. Too heavy
