The air between them was static, charged with the lingering electricity of their bond and the sharp, cold edge of his suspicion. Gotti's forehead remained pressed against hers, his breath hitching as he waited for an answer that would make sense of the chaos in his chest.
"I don't know, Gotti," Anita whispered, her voice trembling but steady in its honesty. "I swear to you, I don't know why he says it. He just... he started looking at me like... like he already knew me. I have no explanation for it."
She couldn't tell him the truth—not yet. How could she explain that she had woken up in this body, in this world, with memories that weren't hers and a wolf that screamed of a connection older than time? He already thought she was a traitor; she didn't need him to think she was insane.
Gotti's grip on her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly pulled away. He let out a harsh, mocking sound that wasn't quite a laugh—it was too jagged for that.
