"Let her cool down. She loves me too much to stay angry. She'll come around."
Each word landed like a stone. Every step I took felt like dragging my feet through wet concrete. My wolf, who had been clawing at the edges of my ribs since I'd walked in on them, went eerily still. Not calm. The kind of still that comes before something breaks.
And the last five years with Theron began replaying in my mind, scene by scene, like a film I couldn't pause.
I'd met him seven years ago.
His pack had just been established, barely more than a handful of wolves holding contested territory. I hid the fact that I was the sole surviving heir of the Silvercrest bloodline and quietly funneled every alliance, every resource, every territorial connection my family had into building him up. From an Alpha with nothing to his name to one of the most powerful pack leaders in the region.
After we were mated, he treated me like I was the center of his universe.
When I got sick, he sat at my bedside and refused to leave, his wolf pressed against mine through the bond like a warm hand holding me steady.
When I was hungry, he cooked for me himself, making the oatmeal I loved, the kind that was easy on my stomach.