EMBER’S POV
The transformation is fluid, dark fur receding into bronze skin, the wolf compressing into the tall, bloodied, naked figure of a man looking at me with an expression so tender it makes the terror worse because monsters aren’t supposed to look at you like you’re their salvation.
“There you are.” A whisper, soft and reverent. “My little flame.”
He crouches in front of me where I’ve collapsed in the snow, my body shaking with the heat, the cold, the warring instincts of a woman who wants to run and a wolf who wants to surrender.
His hand reaches for my face, fingertips trembling, hovering an inch from my cheekbone.
“I forgive you,” he whispers, and the sincerity in his voice is the most horrifying part. “For the scratches. For the running. For all of it. I could never hurt yo
