POV: Jake
The Den had a way of swallowing sound.
The heavy iron doors of the garage boomed shut behind us, cutting off the world. The shift from the frantic, adrenaline-soaked mountain pass to the dim, wood-paneled silence of Frank’s office felt like a sudden drop in altitude.
My skin was still vibrating.
I didn't like the silence. Not tonight. The moon was climbing, dragging the wolf up to the surface of my awareness, making my bones ache with the need to shift, to run, to hunt.
Kim didn't make a sound.
She stood in the center of the office, still wrapped in Frank’s leather jacket, her plus-size frame dwarfed by the heavy, masculine lines of the room. The sleeves bunched up around her elbows, the hem hitting mid-thigh. She looked like she’d been dragged through a hurricane, and hone
