Roman didn’t remember grabbing his jacket. He didn’t remember pushing the door open.

He only remembered the cold night air hitting his face like a slap, sharp, sobering, and nowhere near enough to calm the storm tearing through him.

He walked.

Long, angry strides down the narrow dirt path behind the safehouse, boots punching into the ground with each step. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, his teeth bared, the same fury he felt churning through him in violent waves.

He had ...