Dominic

It was a small, broken sound. The kind of sound a wounded thing made when it learned there was no shelter after all. Her pain moved through me, raw and sharp, a cut that wouldn’t clot.

For a long moment I just held her, feeling every tremor. Her breath sawed fast and thin against my chest, ribs shaking with the effort not to fall apart.

I could smell her sorrow, salt-bright and bitter, rising beneath the weaker note of warmth from the fire. My wolf paced, just ...