My hand shot out to steady her before conscious thought could intervene, fingers closing around her elbow with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. The contact sent electricity racing up my arm—her warmth, her pulse, the way she fit perfectly against my palm as if she'd been designed for my touch.
Careful, the rational part of my mind warned. She's not a doll to be positioned at will.
But the wolf was purring with satisfaction at the way she leaned into my support, at the trust implicit in letting me steady her when she was vulnerable. At the simple rightness of touching her, holding her, being what she needed in that moment.
"Easy," I murmured, the word coming out lower than I'd intended. "The stairs can be treacherous when you're tired."
She looked up at me then, and I saw som
