He couldn’t even remember the numbers we had whispered to each other under moonlight the night he claimed me—the night my wolf had stirred beneath my skin for the first time in years.
I met his gaze. “Our wedding anniversary,” I said softly.
His hands stilled.
That date had passed two weeks ago, unnoticed by him but etched in my bones like a scar. He tried again, inputting the wrong date—Freya’s birthday. My stomach turned. His jaw clenched. After another failed attempt, he threw the box back at me.
“I don’t care what you bought. Throw it out,” he snapped. “You don’t deserve to spend my money.”
No, I thought, I don’t deserve to be treated like this by a man who once swore he’d protect me through every full moon.
I wanted to tell him that, but I said nothing; instead, l clutched the box tightly to my chest as I retreated to the guest room. Behind me, Freya suddenly moaned dramatically and whimpered that she felt faint.
As if on cue, Draven rushed to her side, scooping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs.