The forest feels crowded for the first time.
Not loud. Not chaotic. Pressed.
Like too many bodies sharing the same breath, the same intention, the same narrow slice of land. Even the light looks different, fractured by movement that never quite shows itself. Shadows overlap where they should not. The air holds warmth in places it should cool. My wolf paces beneath my skin, not frantic, not defensive. Alert in a way that hums.
I can feel him.
Not the pack. Not the scouts who have been circling and testing and mapping since dawn. I feel Derek’s wolf distinctly now, a presence that does not blur into the background noise of territory and instinct. It stands apart, solid and unmistakable.
Not rage.
Control.
That is what makes my pulse stumble. Rage would be familiar. Rage would be loud
