My voice cut the hospital air like a sharpened fang steady, low, impossible to ignore. It felt strange to hear it coming from Riley's throat, but the intent behind it was mine: owned and dangerous.
My mother no, the woman who'd claimed me as her daughter stared, wet-eyed and frantic, the scent of worry clinging to her like perfume. Grant Ashbourne looked at me as if I'd grown a second head: puzzled, affronted, the kind of cold appraisal that had once made Riley shrink smaller than a pup.
I couldn't parse every memory that belonged to Riley, but I knew the imprint of fear when I felt it. The way my knees wanted to give whenever Grant stepped closer told me everything I needed to know: he had been a tyrant, not a father. Why else would a she-wolf choose silence in the dark over walking down a marked aisle?
