Keith

The necklace shakes in my hand because I’m shaking. I’m gripping it too tight, the thin chain biting into my palm hard enough to break skin, but I can’t loosen my hold. My wolf paces inside me like a storm contained by ribs and bone, snarling, confused, demanding action.

It’s hers. Her scent is on it.

His voice is low, rough, almost afraid. My wolf doesn’t get afraid. Not usually.

But I get it. Because I’m afraid too.

I stare at the small charm dangling from the chain—Hope’s charm, the one she used to thumb when she was nervous, the one I buried with her. The one that should...