Three days after the incident, I was going stir-crazy.
"Damien, I'm fine," I said for the hundredth time as he adjusted the pillows behind my back. Again. "The bruises are almost gone. I can walk. I can sit. I can breathe without you hovering."
"I'm not hovering."
"You literally just fluffed my pillows. Twice."
"They looked uncomfortable."
"They're pillows. They're meant to be uncomfortable." I grabbed his hand before he could reach for the tea tray. "Sit. Talk to me like a normal person, not like I'm a piece of fine china about to shatter."
He sat, but the tension in his shoulders told me he was still in overprotective mode. "The full moon is in three days."
"I know. You've mentioned it. Several times. Per hour."
"Claire, I'm serious. The pack gathering—it's not like human parties. It's..." He searched for words. "Intense. Primal. Wolves are more aggressive during the full moon, emotions run higher, and—"
