Confused by his uncharacteristic gentleness yet sensing the predatory tension bleed out of his frame, Avery remained motionless. A surge of concern—one she knew was dangerous to harbor—pulsed through her. She made a sharp, inquisitive gesture, demanding to know what rot was eating at his wolf, for his symptoms mirrored a deep, silver-veined sickness.

Hudson, his strength slowly returning as her proximity acted like a balm, hooded his eyes. He replied with an icy arrogance that mocked his recent fragility. "What does it matter to a dormant wolf like you? The more you scent the truth, the more the burden will crush you."

Avery’s brow furrowed. Even while clinging to...