(Siena’s POV)
The scent hits me before I see him—pine and midnight, sharp and familiar even amid the layered perfumes and alcohol that saturate the air in the bar. It slices through the laughter and music like a blade, striking a part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury.
My wolf stirs immediately, her sleepy dormancy shattered by his presence. She whines softly, hopeful and yearning, but I clamp down on her emotions, banishing the noise before it can grow.
I knew this would happen.
Of course, I did.
Returning to Windhowl, even for a short visit, meant the chance of seeing him was inevitable. I thought I was prepared. I rehearsed the possibilities in my mind, practiced my composure. But nothing could have prepared me for the way my body betrays me now—muscles tensing,
