The word surfaces through shock and denial.
My heat cycle.
The thing that died when Chance did. When the bond snapped and took half my soul with it. When my wolf went cold, my pack started looking at me with pity disguised as sympathy.
Barren, they’d whispered.Poor thing. She’ll never bond again.
And I’d been relieved. Because it meant I’d never betray him. Never move on. Never let anyone else touch what belonged to Chance. Being empty felt right. Clean. Devoted.
Years without a cycle. Of coldness that proved my grief was real. Permanent. Worthy.
And now—
My wolf is screaming. Forhim. The man who killed my mate.
Nausea hits hard and fast. I press a hand to my mouth. Swallow bile.
This can’t be happening.
My body shouldn’t be doing this. Not for anyone. Especially not for the dragon who signed the order that destroyed my life.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Try to rationalize. It’s this fucked-up situation. Has to be. The fight flooded my system with chemicals that are confusing biological responses. Exhaustion making me interpret signals wrong. Maybe some kind of dragon pheromone… manipulation that I don’t understand yet.
Anything butthat.
But wolves don’t lie to themselves about scent. About heat. About what their bodies recognize.
And this is unmistakable.
My skin feels alive. Sensitized. The fabric of my clothes feels too rough. The air against me too sharp. Everything heightened and wrong and demanding.
I want to shift. Let my wolf take over. Run until my paws bleed, and this wrongness gets left behind in the snow.
But I can’t.
Can’t leave. Can’t run. Can’t do anything but stand here while my body betrays everything I am.
What’s wrong with me?
The question pinballs around in my head. Relentless. For half a decade, I’ve hunted him. Planned this. Let hate feed me when nothing else could.
And my wolf… My own wolf—
She recognizes him as something other than prey. As something worthclaiming.
The disgust is so strong I taste it coating my tongue.
How could she? How could my wolf betray Chance like this? He was our mate. Oursoul mate. The one we chose. The one we lost. And she’s responding to his killer like—
I can’t finish the thought. My hands shake. I press them harder against the wall.
Chance.
His name is an anchor. The last solid thing in a world that’s spinning wrong. I see his face. His smile. The way he’d look at me across a room and I’d know—know—what he was thinking. The bond between us so strong that words were optional.
The way it felt when it snapped. Like dying. Like being torn in half. Like every good thing in the world ending at once. I mourned him. Still mourn him. Will mourn him until I die.
So why—?
