Chapter 2

I always knew Ezra was wild, never truly mine in all six of those years.

I told myself I could live with it, as long as I didn’t see it or breathe it in.

So I avoided the traces of his intimacy with other she-wolves.

Trained myself to forget and move on.

When I looked up, he leaned against the liquor cabinet with a glass of bourbon in hand, the hot spring splashing behind him.

No panic in his eyes. Not a shred of guilt.

“You’re late.”

He gave a lazy shrug. His voice was dead calm.

I clutched the scroll tighter.

If I let go, it would hit the floor with weeks of work inside it.

I parted my lips to speak—

The hot spring doors hissed open.