The bathroom door is wide open.
No light.
No sound.
The house is too quiet.
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.
She’s gone.
And that little string I have tied to my self-control—it shreds.
My Tiger explodes.
He doesn’t rise.
He just rips free.
A roar tears out of me before I can stop it, claws shredding through the sheets as I surge out of bed, heart pounding, blood roaring in my ears.
Mine is gone.
I snarl, already moving, already searching.
No, no, no!
The scent is there.
Faint.
Fading.
Hadley.
It’s cookie dough, sugar, and sex—and something else.
Something soft and warm that’s already slipping through my fingers.
She left.
She walked away.
Without a word.
Without a whisper.
My chest tightens, something primal snapping tight inside me.
No! My unclaimed mate left me.
The words echo like a shotgun blast.
Like a warning that sounded too late.
Like a threat.
My Tiger paces inside my house, frantic now.
