OLIVIA POV
I had never climbed on a wolf’s back before.
Not like this. Not on anyone but my father, years ago, when I was just a little girl and Tiara was still alive inside me, when she used to laugh in my head at the sensation of speed and strength under us.
But Atticus was nothing like my father’s wolf.
His fur was black as night, thick and warm beneath my frozen hands. The texture of it sank between my fingers when I gripped too tightly, afraid of slipping, of falling into the blur of trees that rushed past. And those eyes—those maddening green eyes—glowed like emerald wildfire every time his head turned just enough for me to catch a glimpse. A beautiful creature, powerful and terrifying, and some sick part of me thought: *Tiara would have adored him. She would have loved to have h
