Reed POV
There was something almost blasphemous about how carefree they were — my people. Wolves. Laughing. Drinking. Grinding their bodies together under dim amber lights like there wasn't a girl out there somewhere, locked in a cage, screaming my name.
Her name still lingered at the edges of my mind like a bleeding wound.
Clause.
No—Clare.
I didn't know what was worse: that I had a human for a mate, or that I hadn't cared once I'd realized. She was mine. She is mine. And the universe had seen fit to tear her from my grasp. There was a part of me that still smelled the memory of her—scent earthen and warm like thunder before a storm—and another part that howled at its absence.
And now I had to wade through this damn wolf bar just to get answers.
It was called The Maw. Wolves-only. Neutral space for our kind to drink, to fuck, to let go. A place where dominance and scent meant more than words.
The second I stepped past the threshold, the air changed.
