Chapter 7: Threads You Can't See

Asher DravenHart

We finished breakfast slower than when we started. 

Not because the food wasn't good, it was. The bread was warm, the crisp bit of bacon, and the apples that tasted like comfort. But the dining hall carried echoes: the pack's curious glances and their minds linking with one another wondering why she was still here, what she was going to do, when she was going to run. I'm glad that she couldn't hear it, the weight of things said without literally saying them. 

What mattered most was that Savannah ate anyway.

Depsite the heavy feeling in the room.

When she finally pushed her plate away, she looked steadier than she had the night before. She was still wary, her character still was sharp at the edges, but she looked less like she was one breath away from bolting out of the house and back into the cold. She sat back in the chair, tugging at the hem of my shirt like she had forgotten it was mine for a moment, then remembered and flushed faintly.

I rose first, not rushing her. The room watched just like it always did. But I made a point of keeping my posture calm. My movements unhurried. An Alpha's quiet reminder that the pack would not make a spectacle of her if they valued their teeth still in their mouths.

We left the dining hall side by side.

My hands were by my side, even though I wanted to hold her hand, I didn't. Not this time.

Not because I didn't want to, Nero was practically itching underneath my skin, but because I could feel how much Savannah need to choose on her own. At her own pace. Space mattered, consent mattered. Especially now, when every touch could be misconstrued as claim.

The corridor outside was quieter in the early morning, the pale light from the rising sun turned the dark wood to a kind of honey color. It was warm where it touched, leaving the rest to fall in soft shadow. The house smelled of lingering coffee and damp wool drying somewhere near a vent.

Savannah walked in step with me, arms loose at her sides. Every so often her gaze flicked to a side hall or a portait like she was mapping the place. Like she was looking for exits, blind spots. It was survival instinct dressed up as curiosity. Halfway down the corridor, she looked over at me, then forward again hoping I didn't see.

"Yes, Savannah?" I said, feeling a smile start to form on my lips.

"Oh. I was... just..." She started, rolling the hem of the shirt in between her fingers, "Can I ask another question?"

"Of course, little one." I said immediately.

"Okay. Well," She exhaled through her nose, "It might not be just one. I have a lot more bouncing around up here." She tapped her temple with a single knuckle. 

"I assumed." I replied, and a quiet chuckle slipped out before I could stop it.

She halted mid step just long enough to glare at me.

"Do not laugh at me."

"I could never." I said, feigning offense, "Ask away."

She started her pace again and I matched hers.

"That... group chat thing," she began. Her mouth twisted like the word tasted bad, "Between you and Rowan. You did it again at breakfast didn't you? You were just staring at one another and then out of nowhere he was yelling and laughing and you were..." she flicked her gaze to my face, "blushing."

Heat threatened to climb up my neck again at her mention, which only made her looked more satisfied.

"We call it, 'The Link.'" I said.

"The link?" she repeated.

"Yes." I glanced down the corridor out of habit. It was empty, quiet, safe enough, "It's a kind of telepathy. Alpha's, like myself, Betas, like Rowan, and Gammas, One of them is named Eli. You'll meet him sometime, But anyway, the three higher ranks in the pack use it to communicate."

"So it is like a group chat." She said, lifting her brows.

"Both yes and no." I said patiently, "There's no... typing. No messages. It all done through thought and intent. It rides on pack bond, as well as the ranks bond with the other."

Savannah leaned closer, eyes widening with interest.

"So you can just... talk in your heads?"

"In a way, yes." I answered, "But it's not like hearing a voice. Kind of like how we are talking right now. It's felt as much as heard."

"That makes no sense."

"I know," I admitted, "It's really hard to describe if you've never felt it before."

Savannah pouted, actually pouted.

For a second it made her look younger than she was. Purely annoyed at being left out. My chest tightened for reasons I didn't want to examine just yet.

"That's so totally not fair..." she muttered. 

"Life rarely is, little one."

She shot me a look.

"What I meant was it's not fair that you two can just talk without me, probably about me, and I am just supposed to what? Stand there and guess at what you guys are saying? At breakfast, you guys were having an invisible conversation while I chewed on bacon."

I let out a soft breath, trying to make it sound like an apology.

"You're not wrong."

Savannah's pout deepened.

"Well could you atleast try?"

"Try what, little one?"

"Explain it," she said like it was obvious, "How it feels. If I can't hear it, I atleast would want to understand what you are doing."

I studied her face. She was curious, stubbornly so. It wasn't just jealousy of being left out. It was her trying to build a map of our world so she wouldn't keep geting blind sided. 

That was the kind of determination that would keep her alive. 

"The link feels like..." I paused, choosing my words carefully, "Pressure at first. Like someone is knocking on the inside of your mind."

"Pressure..." she repeated, knitting her brows together.

"Yes," I said, nodding. I was amused by how intrigued she was at our world, "It's not painful, more familiar. The way you can feel someone step into a room behind you without hearing them. Like they have a presence you know is there."

She went very still like she was testing the comparison. 

"Then it's... connection." I continued, my voice low, "A thread that you wouldn't be able to see, but can tug on. You can send a thought down it, be it an image, an emotion, a warning, and the other person recieves it instantly."

"And you feel it?" she pressed.

"Like a pulse," I nodded once, "Like a warmth in your chest that isn't yours. Or a sharpness behind your eyes. Depending on what is being sent."

Savannah tapped her chin as she pondered.

"So basically when you and Rowan were doing it..."

My mind flashed an image of Rowan, shirtless, laying below me. Heat started to crawl.

"You were basically texting with emotions."

"Well, kind of." I said through a short laugh, "It's more like a phone conversation that only he and I share. But you are on the right track."

Savannah looked pleased with herself for a moment, then her expression sobered.

"Okay then..." she said more quietly, "My next question, if the token would awaken, would I be able to hear it or feel it?"

I stopped walking. The question landed with weight.

Savannah noticed the shift, stopped along side me. The hallway stretched around us, silent except for the distant hum of heat vents and the faint clink of dishes being cleared from breakfast.

I stared at the far wall without really seeing it, my mind turning over all the possibilities like stones in my hand. The token wasn't just wood, ash, and old magics. It was pack law made tangible. A binding. A delcaration of power. and if it chose Savannah, if it were to truly awaken in her presence, it could do something other than simply accouncing her.

It might change her.

Nero stirred like he was listening attentively.

"Honestly, I don't know." I answered.

Savannah's shoulders rose with a slow inhale, then fell. She didn't snap. She just looked thoughtful, as if she had expected the uncertainty but hated it anyway.

"The token hasn 't awakened in a very long time." I continued, "We know what it announces. We know what it signals. But what it might unlock, what it might grant or even bind, we don't. Sure there are records of previous Lunas and what it did to them, but they were all wolf born. Nothing that I would trust"

"So it could let me hear you."

"I could, yes." I said, "Or it could do nothing but annouce you to the world. Or it could enhance your abilities. I can't promise either way."

Her fingers curled aruond the hem of her borrowed sweatpants, trying to ground herself. She looked up, her eyes searching mine. 

In the quiet, I heard my own voice offer something that I hadn't planned to say so soon.

"But..." I said, my voice filled with emoition. "If it does awaken and chooses you. I would like to try."

Savannah blinked but smiled.

"The link." I clarified as I saw her confusion, "To see if you can hear it. Or feel it. Or..." I exhaled, frustrated by how much I didn't know. "Anything. I'd rather test it ourselves than be surprised later."

She didn't answer right away. The silence stretched, filled with the soft morning hum mixed with the weight of what she might be agreeing to.

Then she nodded. Once. Small, almost shy.

"Yeah. I want that too." She said quietly.

The words were simple. But Nero reacted like she had just spoken vows.

Heat surged through my chest, my heartbeat kicked hard enough I felt it in my throat. Nero rose behind my ribs, thrilled, possessive. His voice flooded my mind like warm thunder.

"She is choosing! She is staying!"

I held my breath steady, fighting the instinct to close the distance, to take her agreement as more than it was. My hands curled once at my side, tightening the control to my fists.

"Easy." I warned.

He didn't back off.

"ASK HER."

I looked at Savannah, I mean really looked at her. The set of her jaw. The faint tremor that had taken over her fingers. Her exhaustion hiding under her bravery. The fact that she hadn't run.

"Savannah..." My voice came out rougher that I intended when I spoke.

She tensed, wary again, like she felt the shift in me.

I swallowed, trying to force the gentleness back into my tone.

"I'm not asking this to corner you, I just need to understand what you want."

She held my gaze, her breathing slow, measured. 

"Does that mean you have decided to stay?" 

Savannah held my gaze, for a long time.

Long enough that the quiet hallway started to feel crowded. Every creak from the house settling sounded like a gunshot. Her fingers tightened around the sweatpants hem again, her knuckles paling. Her throat worked like she was swallowing words that she didn't want to say outloud. 

Finally, she exhaled. Slow. Uneven.

"I...I still don't know, Asher." she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. 

The words didn't hit like a slap, but it hit against a door that wouldn't open.

I told myself that what she said was fair. That she'd known us for less than a day. That her world had shattered and she was standing in rubble trying to decide where to put her feet. 

Nero didn't care about fairness. 

I felt him pulse under my skin, hot and immediate, offended in a way that had nothing to do with pride but everything to do with instinct. 

"WHAT DOES SHE MEAN, SHE DOESN'T KNOW?!"

He roared in my head, a bellow that made the edges of my vision tighten, "She stayed here. She touched you. She slept beside you. WHAT DOES SHE MEAN?!" 

The force of it made me wince 

I snapped my eyes shut, jaw clenching as if I could hold my skull together my sheer will power. It wasn't pain exactly, more pressure, like thunder trapped behind bone. A surge that threatened to flood forward, to turn my voice sharp, to make the hallway feel smaller around her. 

"Quiet!" I tried to command him, by my mental voice came out strained.

Nero didn't yield.

"ASK HER AGAIN! MAKE HER CHOOSE! MAKE HER SAY IT!"

A wave of heat rushed up my throat. For a fraction of a second, I tasted the beginning of a growl.

"NO. Not at her. Never at her!"

I forced air into my lungs, slowly, deliberately. Counting to myself like I did when I was a boy when the pack watched for cracks.

"One breath. Two. Three. Come on." 

The bellow in my skull dulled to a furious rumled.

Then... a voice. 

Close.

Too close.

"Asher?"

I opened my eyes.

Savannah was inches from my face.

She was so close I could see the tiny gold flecks in her irises catching the morning light. I could see the barely there freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her brows were drawn tight with worry, and her hand was half raised, hovering near my shoulder like she didn't know if she was allowed to touch me or not. 

Her other hand had already reached out, fingers brushing against my forearm, tentative. 

"Asher," she said again, softer, "Are you alright?"

I blinked once, thrown off by how quickly she had moved. She had crossed that distance without hesitation, as if her body decided before her mind could debate about it. I swallowed hard, feeling the heat creep into my face for a reason that had nothing to do with embarrassment, but everything to do with the face that she was near. Near enough to smell her natural sweetness.

"I'm fine..." I managed to say through a rough voice. 

Savannah didn't move away. 

"Are you sure?" she asked, eyes searching my face with unnerving focus, "You looked like... like you got all dizzy. Or like you were in pain."

"I wasn't in pain." I said quickly.

Which was half true. It wasn't pain so to speak.

It was wanting and restraint braided together to tightly that sometimes it felt like it would snap. 

Savannah's fingers tightened on my forearm.

"Then what happened?"

I hesitated.

I didn't want to tell her about the bellow in my head. About how quickly Nero could turn protective into possessive if I didn't keep him in check. About how the words don't know made him want to bear teeth at the universe.

Because the last thing she needed was another reason to fear me. 

But her gaze didn't waver.

Savannah stayed close. It was like if she decided to step back, all of her bravado would crumble.

"Nero..." I forced my voice steady, "didn't really like your answer."

Her expression flickered. Confusion first, then understanding, then something a bit softer underneath. Something that wasn't fear.

"He... got mad?" she asked quietly.

"He got loud." I admitted, the understatement tasted bitter, "He thinks that you've already chosen to stay because you're still here."

Savannah's lips parted, like she was going to say something sharp. Something bratty to retain the control. 

Instead she shook her head, once. 

"I'm really trying here, Asher. I'm trying not to upset you," she whispered so gently and apologetically that it made my chest hurt, "I just... I don't know what I am allowed to be sure of yet."

Allowed.

The word snagged in my brain.

Like she thought that certainty was permission that someone else granted her.

I felt something in my tighten. Protective in a way that wasn't Nero.

"You're allowed to be unsure," I said, firmly but gentle. "You're allowed to take your time." 

Savannah's eyes softened, but she still stood there. So close.

And then, quietly like she was admitting something to herself...

"I don't know why I walked over here..." 

I blinked.

"What?" I asked because my mind couldn't keep up.

Savannah shook her head again, a little frustrated with herself.

"I don't know." She repeated, but her voice wasn't panicked. It was... bewildered, "I just..." She sighed heavily, "When you closed your eyes, it felt wrong for me to just stand there and do nothing. It felt like... Like I was supposed to do something." 

My pulse thudded hard. I kept my hands at my sides, still. Not reaching. Not pushing.

"Well, what did it feel like you should do?" I asked softly, because I genuinely didn't think she realized how close she was.

Her breath trembled. Her cheeks warmed faintly.

"I don't know..." she said again, but this time, the tone in her voice was more honest than uncertain.

She lifted her hand, slowly, deliberately slow, and placed it against my face. 

Her palm was warm.

Her fingers curved along my cheekbone like she had done that a thousand times before, like touching me was the most natural thing in the world. Her thumb brushed lightly near the edge of my beard, testing the texture, then smoothed over as if she didn't care that it was rough.

The hallway narrowed.

Not because it changed, but because my focus did.

Her hand was the only thing I felt. 

Nero went utterly still.

For a moment, I expected him to surge. To shove himself forward, to claim the moment, to flood my eyes with gold and turn my voice into something too deep.

Instead...

...he growled.

A low, rolling satisfaction that vibrated through my ribs.

"YES."

The growl deepened, swelling into intent. Heat rose behind my eyes.

I felt the beginning of a shift. My senses sharpened, the edge of the world tinging gold. 

Savannah's thumb paused. Then continued to stroke right along my cheek, firm and slow, like she was soothing an animal.

"Hey..." she whispered so quietly I barely heard her.

It wasn't a command. Just presence. Her saying that she is right there.

The surge faltered.

Nero...stopped. Not because I had to yank the leash, but because she had touched him. Through me. And he listened. 

I stared at her, genuinely taken aback. 

She stared right back, equally still, like she had felt the change too. Felt the moment the wolf pressed forward and then settled under her hand. 

"What did you just do?" I asked, voice rough

Savannah smiled.

"I don't know." she whispered, "I just felt him. Like... a big angry dog behind your eyes."

That was too accurate to be coincidence. I didn't move. Didn't breathe properly.

Nero growled again, smug and reverent all at once.

"She calms me..." 

Savannah's fingers kept moving, almost absent minded now. Her thumb brushed the edge of my beard again, her palm was warm against my skin. The contact was intimate in a way that filled my chest to the brim and threatened it to spill over. 

I lifted my own hand, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn't.

So I placed my hand over hers.

My fingers enveloped hers easiler. Her hand was smaller, softer, and warmer than anything I deserved. I didn't trap her. I didn't press. I just held her there, acknowledging what she had offered.

Without thinking, without permission from anything but the ache that was deep in my bones, I leaned into her palm.

A quiet nuzzle. A surrendering motion. Like a wolf pressing its face into the hand that feeds it.

Her breath hitched. Not fear. Not recoil.

Something else... Something tender and startled. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of her touch seep into me, letting the hallway fade away until there was only her hand and my breath and the low, yet satisfied, hush of Nero in my chest.

When I opened then again, she still hadn't moved. She was looking at me like she was trying to read the truth directly off of my skin. 

In that morning light, with her palm against my cheek and my hand over hers, it felt dangerously, impossibly, like the world had tilted toward something new. 

"You said that you didn't know what you were doing..." I reminded her gently, my voice quiet.

"I still don't." She said as she nodded once, tiny.

"But you came to me." 

"I did." She said as her thumb brushed once more, almost shy.

My heartbeat slowed, then spiked.

Nero's growl deepened, satisfied beyond words. 

"She's touching us..."

And for the first time since she stepped into my territory, I realized something that made my chest ache in a different way:

Savannah might not know what she was choosing, but her body, no her instincts kept moving toward me anyway.

Savannah Whitlock.

My brain was doing that thing where it tried to sprint in ten directions at once and still somehow managed to slam directly into a wall.

Because why, WHY in all the hells, had I walked over to him?

Why had I closed the distance until the hallway felt smaller, until the morning light striping the floor turned into background noise? Why had I gotten close enough to see the faint shadow of sleeplessness under his eyes, close enought to smell him; sandlewood, cedar, and something warm underneath that it didn't feel like colonge so much as... him?

Why had I reached up and touched his face?

I tried to make it logical. I really did.

He looked like he was hurting. He'd closed his eyes like the world had gotten too loud. My body reacted before my brain could negotiate. Comfort him. Ground him. Fix it.

Except... the longer I replayed it in my mind, the more I realized my hand hadn't just landed there like an accident.

I had chosen to. 

My thumb had moved like it belonged there, like it ws normal for me to cup Asher Dravenhart's cheek in a quiet hallway and stroke the rough edge of his beard like I'd known him longer than a single, insane day. 

But the worst part...

Was the more I tried to rationalize it, the more the truth kept resurfacing like a stubborn bubble I couldn't pop:

I was starting to like him.

Not the mythology. Not the whole "Alpha" ting. Not the wolf lore and the pack politics and scary magic boxes.

Him.

Asher.

His steadiness. The way he asked instead of demanded. The way he gave me space and still somehow made me feel... watched over. Protected. The way his voice softened the second he realized I might be frightened. It was like he was constantly calibrating himself around my edges. 

Then he nuzzled into my palm.

A full body, heart stuttering nuzzle, soft and instinctive, like some giant, dangerous creature had just melted. 

It was embarrassingly cute.

Like a big dog when they get a trick right and they are so proud they can't help pressing into your hand for praise. 

That thought made heat rush into my cheeks, and I hated myself for how fast it happened. 

I could feel his hand over mine, giant and warm and careful. Not trapping me. Just... holding me there as if my touch mattered. For one stupid, reckless second, I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

Not a polite, careful kiss. Not a peck that we could pretend it didn't mean anything.

A real one.

The kind where his hand would tighten over mine, where his breah would hitch, where that steady control in him would crack just enough to prove he felt it too. The kind where I'd taste winter and coffee and whatever Asher was made of. And then I would find out, once and for all, if the pull I kept denying was real or just my brain trying to cope with trauma by turning it into some trashy romance novel.

My heart kicked hard enough my ribs ached.

The most terrifying part though... was I didn't think that it was a joke. 

I was becoming more of a want. 

"Savannah. Stop. You are spiraling."

I forced a breath in, slowly. And then another. The hallways was still there: dark wood, old portraits, a band of sunlight on the floor that made the dust motes glitter. I could hear the hum of the broiler and someone laughed faintly somewhere in the house.

Normal sounds in a very not normal type of life. 

Then, carefully, oh so carefully, I began to pull my hand away.

The moment the warmth of my palm left his cheek, Asher's eyes snapped open.

Not angry

Just... alert. Like I'd removed something essential.

Then he made a sound.

Gods help me.

A small, low whine escaped his lips before he could stop it. It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.

But I did.

And it did something criminal to my chest. 

He blinked once, jaw flexing like he was annoyed with himself because he made such a cute noise. I stood there frozen, cheeks blazing, heart skipping, trying to decide if I should pretend I hadn't heard it to save him... or tease him because I couldn't help myself. 

My mouth curved anyway, a smile I didn't have time to censor.

His gaze locked on mine, and for a split second there was something human in his expression, which quickly vanished. 

I swallowed, still smiling despite myself.

"Did you..." I cleared my throat, then tried again, voice lighter, teasing as a shield, "Did you like it that much?"

Asher didn't speak immediately.

He just looked at me. Like I was a problem he wanted to solve and a treasure he wanted to cherish in the same breath.

Then he gave one slow, honest nod.

"Yes."

No joke. No tease. No pride, Just yes.

The answer was so straight forward that my stomach flipped on itself. 

"Oh..." I breathed. 

I regrouped fast, because if I didn't I was going to do something truly stupid. Like actually act on what I was thinking about and kiss him.

So I pulled out my trump card of distractions.

I got bratty.

"Okay then..." I said, lifting my chin like I wasn't currently smoldering, "Well, I still have a couple of questions."

Asher's gaze didn't leave mine.

I pointed at him like he was on trial, even though my pulse was doing backflips.

"But," I added, voice sharp with a dare, "if you don't laugh at me when I ask something dumb... I'll give you scratchies. Like real scratchies. Right behind the ear, Like you're a..." I paused, and because I couldn't help myself, I added in a too-sweet voice, "...good boy."

The air changed. Not mystically or dramatically.

Physially. Like the pressure shifted in the hallway. Like I had tugged an invisible thread and something big just sat up and paid attention. 

Asher's pupils dialted. I watched it happen, clear as day. The dark centers widening, swallowing more of the brown until his gaze looked like I could fall into him. His jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck flexed as if he had swallowed a growl.

"Oh. Oh no."

My breath caught.

"Asher?" I said. It was supposed to come out teasingly, but it came out uncertain.

He moved.

Impossibly fast.

Once second I was standing there with my back to the wall, all smug and flustered, playing with fire. 

The next, his hands were on my waist, firm, hot, and utterly certain. He guided me until my shoulders met wood with a soft thud.

A squeak ripped out of me before I could stop it.

"Asher!" I gasped, startled more than scared, palms lifting instinctively to his chest. 

His shirt was warm beneath my hands. I could feel the solidity of hiom through the fabric, all muscle, heat, and restraint. His heart hammered fast under my palms, not with anger, but with control. Because he was being tested.  

He didn't crush me. He didn't pin me in a way that stole air.

But he closed the distance enough that I could feel his breath. Enought that I could feel the heat rolling off him like a storm. 

His face hovered inches from mine, eyes flicking to my mouth for the briefest of seconds before rising slowly back to my eyes.

He leaned closer, angling his head so his mouth was near my ear.

"Careful..." he murmured. His voice was low and rough, a sound that vibrated bown my spine. 

The words weren't loud but my knees forgot how to work.

Heat shot through me, sharp, dizzying, like my body forgot how to be upright. The hallway spun just a fraction from the awareness of him being so close, his hands firm on my waist, his breath brushing my skin.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to keep the tremble out of it.

"What?" I managed, then had to try again because my throat went dry, "You don't like being praised?"

His grip tightened just slightly, enough to remind me he was there, enough to make my stomach do gymnastics again.

"I do..." he said, still close, still rough, "But I might like it too much when it comes from you..."

That sentence, Gods that sentence! It sent another pulse of heat that pooled low in my stomach. 

Because it implied that he wanted to do something else.

Something worse.

Something that would make my bratty little jokes turn into real consequences.

My palms pressed more firmly against his chest without me meaning to, fingers curling slightly into his shirt. I could feel how careful he was being. How he was waiting, waiting for me to say stop, waiting for me to push him away. Awaiting my permission.

"Savannah..." he said quietly. My name sounded different on his tongue, "Tell me to stop."

The words hit like cold water and fire at the same time.

Because he would. 

He would stop if I asked.

He was giving me control even while his body told mine exactly how serious this was.

My heartbeat pounded in my ears. A thousand miles a minute.

Except now the thoughts weren't all panic.

I licked my lips without thinking and immediately regretted it when his eyes tracked the motion like a predator.

I forced myself to swallow.

"I didn't stay stop." I whispered.

It was both an answer and a confession. 

Asher's eyes flickered, something dark and satisfied passing through them before he tightened it back down, like he was yanking his own leash. He hovered there for a heartbeat like he was fighting himself in the space between breaths.

"And you want me to behave," he murmured, his voice brushing against my ear again, "While you say things like that..."

He wasn't mocking me.

He was genuinely affected.

"You're brave," he said, quiet, dangerous, "Or reckless.

"Both..." I whispered back immediately, because if I didn't keep my mouth running, my body was going to betray me harder than it already has.

Asher's grip on my waist tightened. Not painful, just a reminder that he had me where he wanted. 

"Don't use my wolf against me." he murmured, "Not unless you are fully prepared for the consequences."

I swallowed again. I should have backed down.

I didn't

I lifted my chin.

"What kind of consequences?" I whispered, but made it sound like a dare.

Asher's mouth twitched, half warning, half something else.

"The kind that make it extremely difficult," he said slowly, "to keep being polite."

My face flared hot. I should have been scared. I wasn't. Well, not really.

I was... aware. Too aware. Of him. Of me. Of the way my body reacted like it recognized danger but wanted it anyway.

Somewhere beneath all the fear and confusion and the impossible reality of wolves, tokens, and destiny...

 I realized I wasn't just starting to like him.

I was starting to want him.

And that was the most dangerous part.

END OF CHAPTER 7.