Roman was running.

Branches whipped against his bare arms as he tore through the forest, breath coming out in ragged bursts. Blood, his own, streaked his chest, warm and sticky, but he didn’t feel a thing. Not compared to the real wound inside him.

“DESIREE!” he roared, his voice cracking as it echoed into the thick trees.

His wolf paced hard beneath his skin, restless, panicked, snarling inside his mind. He stumbled over an exposed root, caught himself, and pushed harder. He ran until ...