Modric paced the small safe house buried deep in the northern woods, his wounds mostly closed but still burning with residual silver poison. The pack had moved him here after he dragged himself back from the cave. His wolf was a storm inside him—furious, restless, demanding their mate. Every breath without Naida felt like knives under his skin.
He hadn’t slept. The bond screamed at the separation. Pain. Need. A constant ache that no amount of calm control could fully bury.
He sensed her before she reached the door. That wild rose and steel scent cutting through the night. Modric opened the door just as Naida raised her fist to knock.
She looked exhausted. Angry. Beautiful. Dark hair messy, leather gear still stained with his blood from the night before.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said
