YELENA

Being a werewolf meant that every emotion was magnified, every instinct sharpened to a razor's edge, but standing there with Nyra, those instincts were calm, settled into a rhythm of peace.

We descended the stairs, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the grand foyer.

"You know," I said, stopping by the front door, "I’m glad you didn't leave last night."

Nyra didn't turn around, but her shoulders dropped, a small, subtle relaxation of her muscles. "I wouldn't have been ...