The packhouse felt wrong the next morning. Too quiet. Too watchful. Every whisper seemed to stop the second I walked by, and every warrior I passed stepped aside like I was on fire.
Maybe I was. My skin still felt warm, too warm, like something simmered beneath it. My wolf prowled inside me, restless and heavy with a strange sense of purpose I was not ready to understand.
Ronan had barely slept. I knew without seeing him. The bond pulsed with his exhaustion the way a heartbeat pulses under skin. I caught shadows of how tense he felt, how close he was to snapping at someone. And for once, I did not know whether he was angry at me or the situation.
Probably both.
I pushed the connection down, refusing to let it affect me. At least outwardly.
The kitchen was half-full of warriors grabbin
