ADAM
I felt her before I ever stepped into the room. Before she herself crossed into the quarters.
The bond—if that was what this was—tightened like a living thing beneath my skin, undeniable. It had been there even when she was gone, faint but persistent, like a distant echo I could never fully silence.
Now, standing here, it was overwhelming.
I faced the wall, my back to the room, my palms braced against stone I barely registered. I had come here with purpose—had told myself I needed answers, needed to confront her privately, needed to look into her eyes and demand the truth.
I wished I hadn't come. Especially when she entered the space, especially when her voice reached me.
Because if I turned around, I wasn't sure I would stop myself.
Her scent filled the room, saturated the air, crawled into my lungs and settled there like a claim. My wolf surged violently, recognition slamming into instinct, into hunger, into something old and irrevocable.
Mine.
