Asher
“Asher.” Cynthia was saying my name, trying to claim my attention.
At any other moment, I would have been more than happy to give it to her. But right now, I was defending her from a threat, and that threat had yet to be neutralized.
Cynthia smelled bitter, fearful. It pushed off of her in waves.
Inside my head, my wolf threw itself against the cage of my consciousness. It wanted control. It begged to comfort, to protect, to fight.
The wolf had been agitated already, after so many days lacking Cynthia’s soothing presence. It was already on a hair-trigger, ready to snap at the simplest slight.
Cynthia frightened and in danger was no mere slight.
My growl turned feral.
Lamar had been confident when facing me before, but in the face of my near-shift, with my wolf already sharpen
