NYRA POV

The walk back to the pack house was stepping into the maw of something ancient and ravenous, a predator that didn’t need to run because it knew I had no choice but to take a step straight into its jaws. Each step was deliberate, my expression set in the hard, unexpressive mask I’d practiced over the years, but under it, my wolf was a storm. She paced, restless, claws scrabbling on the inside of my skin, her growls a steady low vibration in my brain. She disapproved. She always ...