"Shut your trap!" Preston lunged forward, barking it sharp. Madeline hooked her foot out, riding the momentum to slam it square into my ribs.

I staggered, claws scrabbling at the doorframe to stay upright-three lurching steps before I locked in.

My gut throbbed like fire, and the muddy boot-print blooming on my chest burned just as fierce.

I stared at that gray smudge, numb. It was a brand of shame, summing up my whole sorry bond in one filthy mark.

Preston, cracking under his own cool? A sight for sore eyes.

Too bad it was over a streetwalker from the wrong side of the tracks.

I'd dug into her dirt: just some low-rent she-wolf who had him jumping at shadows, fretting, losing his head.

And now? Riding my coattails to claw at my throat.

I dragged my eyes up slow, cold sweat stinging into them, smearing Preston's face into a blur that didn't match the wolf who'd once set my pulse racing.

Maybe we'd both turned into ghosts of ourselves.

"Clean yourself up before you head out-I bound with a lady, not some rabid stray." His words landed flat, like frost on glass.

"Preston," I tilted my head, flashing teeth in a crooked smile, "how the hell are you still breathing?"

I lunged, utility knife from my palm slashing for his throat.

Second time I'd stuck him, and he froze solid, mind blanking out.

Even as Robert and Helen scrambled to yank me off in a tangle of paws, he just gawked at my eyes, voice cracking like thin ice. "You really... want me dead?"

My eyes burned red, the "yes" scorching my throat-until Helen's screech sliced it off. "She's... she's bleeding buckets!"

Every head whipped her way-and there it was, a dark stain unfurling across my skirt, deepest at the root of my thighs.

"Crystal!" Preston jackknifed up, ignoring his own gash, scooping me close. Panic edged his voice for the first time ever. "What's wrong? Somebody... get the ride! Now!"

My vision tunneled, unfocused, but my grip locked on the hallway rail like a lifeline, breath whispering out. "Guards... get me to the healer's... guards... housekeeper..."

"I'll take you! You'll pull through, I swear..." Preston fumbled at my fingers, prying frantic-couldn't budge 'em.

"I don't buy it!" I wailed, raw and ragged. "You wouldn't lift a paw for me-you never gave a damn... you won't... Guards! Guards! Help!"

Only when the she-guard's paw closed over mine did I let go, slumping into the dark.

Preston cradled me all the way to the ride, his hand cupping my head trembling feather-light.

All these years, he'd braced for my snarls, my flares-always on the attack.

Never this: me, frail as a wind-whipped reed.

Drenched in sweat and blood, the fierce string I'd been drawn tight on his account withered to a splinter-ready to snap at a breath.

He pressed his cheek to my clammy one, murmuring "It's okay" over and over...

No telling if it was for me. Or him.

I came to in the dead of night, room swallowed by shadows.

"Crystal, how you holding up? Want me to fetch the healer?" The she-guard hustled over.

Just her and the male guard in the house.

"Where's Preston?" My voice scraped out soft.

"Madeline... she's in for the night. He bolted to the next room an hour back."

She paused, then added, "Your sire rang. Told him you were out with the girls."

"Good call." I snagged my phone, scrolled to the stockpile of vids I'd kept handy in the gallery, and fired off one of me sipping cocktails at a lounge-enough to ease Dad's mind.

Logged out, and bam-a new friend request pinged.

I tapped accept, and "Madeline" unloaded a barrage of pics.

*That day I lost the pup, Preston stuck by my bedside, conked out right there on his paws.*

*Midnight, I rang him sobbing about the empty ache-he raced over to hold me, still in his healer's scrubs.*

*Just now, I whined about my gut, and he spoon-fed me porridge, peeled fruit like a pro. Crystal, you know how slick your mate is with a blade on an apple?*

I stared at that pic: one perfect peel, thin and even, knife work like a surgeon's.

In my head, I echoed: *No clue.*

*Hate me all you want, Crystal-Preston's got my back, and that's plenty. You bleeding out like that? Pitiful. So I nudged him to pop in and check on you.*

A minute ticked by. Then Preston pushed through the door.

He fixed on me, those deep eyes churning with something I couldn't pin down.

Right on cue, the head healer bustled in. Preston jumped her. "Why... why the hemorrhage?"

She shot him a puzzled glance.

Opened her mouth to lay it out: the miscarriage aftermath, skimping on that first moon's rest.

I cut the healer off before she could spill the beans. "I know my own body-no need to grill me about it."

Preston eased down on the edge of the bed, studying me for a long stretch before taking my hand, light as a whisper. "I had the pack cook whip up some porridge. How about a bite?"

I mustered a smile that felt all wrong, twisted. "Sure."

He popped the lid on the thermos, ladled out a small bowl, and scooped up a spoonful, holding it to my lips.

Madeline's brand of porridge.

The same doting moves he'd pull for her.

I swatted his hand away, the whole bowl tumbling to the floor in a splatter.

I grabbed a tissue and wiped my palm slow, deliberate. "Sorry 'bout that. I can't stand red dates-or sweet slop like this. Five years on the job, and the cook still doesn't know my tastes? Wasted effort on your part. Fire him."

Preston buzzed the guards to clean up the mess, his cool holding steady. "What sounds good? I'll have him rustle up something else."

I clammed up.

He rang the cook, quizzing her on my prefs, then rattled off dish after dish, watching for a twitch from me.

"Shrimp and grits-that's the one," he said finally.

I shot back icy. "This mess with me? None of the Lewis pack's business. Hit the trail-no point wasting your time here. We're unbound anyway!"

He tuned me out, ducked into the washroom for a fresh towel, then came back to dab at my hands and face.

Back when I'd begged him to show, ears deaf.

Now I was shoving him out the door, and still? Deaf.

I chucked the water glass at him. "Get lost!"

His shirtfront soaked through; he didn't even glance down. Just swept everything off the nightstand into my reach. "Keep hurling. Once you're out of ammo, we'll finish the wipe-down. Sticky with sweat like that? You're the one squirming."

So I pelted him-everything within paw's reach.

When the barrage ran dry, he gathered it all up, set it back in my lap.

Third round, I was tapped out. Let him tend me like some bedridden elder, sponging me down gentle.

He spoon-fed me the meal after, and then his phone chimed that special tone.

He stood. "Madeline's still in her recovery moon-body's fragile. Gonna check on her."

All night, he never circled back.

Morning rounds, my healer buddy swung by and cornered me. "Why hide the miscarriage from him last night? When he hauled you into emerg, his chest wound was gushing-folks begged him to get it wrapped, and he blew 'em off. Waited till you were out of the chop shop. Crystal, if you'd clocked that lost-pup look on him, you'd know he cares. Deep."

"I know-I had a sliver of awareness, felt it hit," I said, staring out the window till the light stung my eyes shut. "That's what scares me. If he aches for me even a whisker, I'll tumble right back in. My bar for him... it's basement-low."

But a life stretched between us-a ghost he'd never vault to reach my heart.

This bout wrecked me, down to the bones.

I holed up in the hospital five days, then ghosted home for a full week's bedrest.

Those five days, Preston cleared his slate-first time ever-and stuck by me like glue. The next week? Off on pack business.

But from the taunting vids and snaps Madeline kept firing my way, I knew he'd dragged her along for the ride.

Preston always hated mixing work with play. Early in our bond, when I'd beg to tag along and smooth his trail, he'd shut it down-said I was too flighty.

Now? Who knew how many exceptions he'd carved out for her.

*Never hit Shalandra Town before-told Preston, and boom, he hitches me on. Your mate's a real softie, huh?*

*He shows me the spinning lounge, Disney's wonderland-swears he'll open up the whole wide world for me someday.*

*These shots? All his lens work. I'm snap-happy; he humored me two hours straight. Your mate's patient as a saint, and the eye? Killer!*

Not one of those perks had ever come my way.

No clue his heart ran that tender, that pliable. Or that he could frame a shot like a pro...

Pathetic, really.

Piecing together my own mate from scraps off another she-wolf.

I thumbed back: *No bedroom pics? You holding out on him?*

Dead air, instant.

Phone tossed aside, I hollered for the housekeeper. "Pack up every last thing of Preston's. Box it."

This house? Dad's gift to me for the bond-a love nest I'd dreamed up and decked out myself, back when my head swam with stars.

Week out, unbound time. The one hitting the road? Him.