Derek didn’t remember leaving the house — not the fine details of his storming off in the dead of night, anyway. His wolf had surged forward, more in control than his human side, and Derek hadn’t fought it. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.
One moment he was staring at the monitors replaying Josephine’s last known steps, and the next he was sprinting across the back lawn, the cold night air slamming into his lungs like punishment. His boots tore through the grass, each stride longer, harder, more desperate — as if speed alone could undo the last couple of days.
The shift clawed at him — vicious, demanding, primal — and Derek didn’t resist. He welcomed it.
Bones cracked sharply and his muscles stretched. His skin rippled and split, everything rearranging and knitting itself back together
