Luna chooses this moment to leap from his shoulder to mine, apparently sensing friction. She nuzzles against my cheek with a soft meow.

“See? Even Luna knows I’m being realistic.” I scratch her head. “Besides, dying free is better than living as a slave. At least this way, I got to choose.”

The muscle in Lucian’s jaw twitches, and I realize my cavalier attitude toward my own mortality is genuinely bothering him. The thought that this near-stranger cares about my survival more than my own pack ever did sends a warm flutter through me.

“Stop talking about dying,” he says gruffly.

“Why? It’s a fact of life.”

“Because I don’t...