Kieran -
The rose sat on my desk like an accusation, its crimson petals still perfect despite being severed from its roots three days ago. I'd wrapped it in one of Lydia's lace handkerchiefs—a delicate thing embroidered with forget-me-nots that had survived twenty-seven years of careful preservation. The irony wasn't lost on me: using a token of love lost to preserve a token of love promised.
But it wasn't the rose itself that held my attention. It was what the rose carried.
Her scent.
Every time I lifted the handkerchief to breathe in the flower's perfume, I caught traces of something else—something that made my wolf pace restlessly behind my ribs and sent heat coursing through my veins like molten gold. Human, yes, but human touched by grace. Female, young, with an underlying sweetne
