Layla didn’t sleep.
How could she? Her body still throbbed with need, slick between her thighs, her wolf pacing inside her like a caged fire.
She’d tried everything—cold showers, biting her lip until it bled, even curling into blankets soaked in lavender. Nothing worked.
The ache wouldn’t go away.
Her first heat had officially begun—and with Jaxon’s scent lingering in her lungs, it was torture.
Morning light crept in through the blinds. She’d hoped the desire would dull by sunrise.
It didn’t.
By the time she heard footsteps pass her door, she knew exactly who it was.
Jaxon.
Her legs moved on instinct, carrying her out into the hall, trailing behind him like a moth to flame.
She found him outside, shirtless again, sweat glistening on his chest as he sparred with a punching bag han
