The morning light filtering through the thin motel curtains was grey and bleak.
I woke up with a stiff neck. I had fallen asleep in the chair, watching the door.
The bed was empty.
Panic spiked in my chest for a split second, until I saw him.
Caleb was standing by the window, peering through a crack in the blinds. He was shirtless, wearing only his jeans. The angry red scar from the silver poisoning was fading into a pale pink line—wolf healing was miraculous.
He was holding Leo.
Leo was awake, playing with Caleb’s dog tags, babbling softly. Caleb was rocking him, a gentle, rhythmic motion that contrasted sharply with the tension in his shoulders.
"You’re up," I whispered, stretching my sore limbs.
Caleb turned. His face was grim. "I checked the perimeter. No scent of Wolve
