A torn lace strap of underwear. Black. Slick with old scent.
Freya appeared behind me, her cheeks flushed.
“Oh! How is that still here?” she gasped. “So embarrassing…”
Draven strolled in, saw the strap, and chuckled. “Must’ve slipped her mind.”
I stared at the desk.
I remembered the first year of our mating, when I made Draven a packed lunch, I left it there with a note.
He'd come home raging—furious that I’d “tainted” his sacred study space.
But now, Freya's girl juice was smeared across his desk, and all he did was smile like it was the most amusing thing.
Like she had already replaced me.
And maybe… she had.
But I was no longer the same she-wolf he’d once broken.
Now, I had nothing left to lose.
Not the pup he never knew about.
Not the love he threw away.
And certainly not my wolf, who had begun to stir inside me again, for the first time in months.
She was waking.
And this time, I know, we would rise together.
I winced as I saw how Freya playfully nudged Draven’s shoulder, her laughter delicate and falsely sweet—an act she wore like perfume.