Chapter Thirty-Three - Evans of Green Briar
The hand at the small of her back burned worse than silver.
Jack’s palm pressed lightly as he guided her down the bright hallway, and though his touch was gentle, the dominance humming from it made her stomach roll. After weeks in darkness, every sense was on edge. She flinched at the sunlight that spilled in through tall windows, flinched at the laughter of pups in the distance. It feels wrong, she thought. Too normal. Too peaceful.
Her wolf stirred uneasily. Hold on, Evie. Hold on. We’ll find a way.
When Jack stopped, it was in front of a door painted soft cream, carved with forest motifs—hares, deer, pinecones. He opened it, and the faint scent of milk and powder drifted out.
“This is his room,” Jack said. His voice was uncharacteristical
