But he didn't even glance at the contents. He flipped straight to the last page and pressed his clawed thumb to the blood seal mark, his tone light and casual. "Another pact closed? Nice work, Lyra."
Watching his blood bind to the paper, a bitter ache spread through my chest.
Five years of bonding, and his warmth toward me had only ever been about my usefulness to the pack—never about me being someone he could love as his true mate.
His howl-call crystal buzzed with an incoming message.
He glanced at the glowing stone, and his expression transformed. The polite detachment melted into something tender, almost reverent. Even his voice softened as he answered, his wolf practically purring through the words.
"Hungry? I'm still at the den. If you want, I can hunt something fresh and bring it to your quarters. How does that sound?"
Anyone listening would have assumed the female on the other end was his bonded mate of five years.
But no one knew—no one except me—how long I had loved Fenris Duskmoor.
We grew up together, childhood companions in neighboring pack territories.