Page 27 of Shifting Hearts 1
"You lost, little wolf?"
She flinches.
Not just at the words, but at me. At whatever she’s sensing, whatever I am.
Suddenly, I realize she doesn’t know. She has no idea what’s waking inside her, and I’ve no idea why it’s pulling at me, too.
She doesn’t answer.
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Just breath—shallow, uneven, like she’s afraid words might shatter whatever fragile control she’s clinging to.
I don’t push.
She’s not ready. Hell, I’m not sure I am either.
But the bond pulses again, low and insistent, like a drumbeat beneath the surface of my skin. It’s not claiming, not yet. But it’s watching. Waiting.
She shifts, just slightly, and the scent sharpens; moonlit frost and something older, something that doesn’t belong in this world. It brushes against my senses like a whisper, like a warning.
I’ve felt power before. I’vebeenpower.
But this?This is something else.
“You’re not with a pack,” I say, more to myself than to her. “Not theirs. Not anyone’s.”
Her eyes flicker, storm-gray, silver-bright. There’s pain there, yes, but beneath it all is something sharp, something dangerous.
“I was,” she says, voice hoarse. “Once.”
I nod slowly. “Not anymore.”
She doesn’t flinch this time, doesn’t look away.
For a moment, the silence between us feels like a vow.
The creak of boots on floorboards breaks the moment.
I don’t turn. I don’t need to.
I know that gait; confident, heavy, laced with suspicion. Maddox. One of the old guards. Loyal to the Brotherhood, loyal to me but not subtle. Never subtle.
“Everything good in here?” he asks, voice low but pointed.
The girl stiffens. Her fingers twitch at her sides, like she’s ready to bolt.
I step forward, just enough to block Maddox’s view of her. “Handled.”
He stops a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze flicking past me to the girl I’m clearly shielding. “Didn’t look handled from the bar. She yours?”
The question is casual. The implication isn’t.
“She’s not a threat,” I say, jaw tight.
Maddox raises a brow. “Didn’t ask if she was. Asked if she’s yours.”
The bond pulses again, sharper this time. Possessive. Protective. I grit my teeth.
“She’s under my protection,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
