Author's point of view

The hot water hit Lysander's back in steady waves. He didn't flinch. He simply watched, silent, as the droplets fell from his hair and slid across the hard lines of his jaw, washing away every trace of the kill.

His wolf purred inside him, satisfied. But Lysander felt nothing... Only quiet. The kind of cold quiet that always followed a kill.

He reached for the towel, dragging it slowly across his broad shoulders, his muscles were still tight, still buzzing ...