Logan's POV
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, a rapid, agitated rhythm that does nothing to release the pressure building in my chest.
Noah sits quietly in the passenger seat, head tilted toward the window. Every now and then, I feel his eyes on me. His scent threaded with exhaustion and the acrid tang of fear still lingering from Nathaniel's call. He hasn't spoken since we left the stadium, and neither have I. Not really.
I called Caleb before we pulled out of the parking lot, told him to send someone to retrieve the car I came with while we took Noah's. One less thing to worry about. Except everything else is still gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
Nathaniel Aldridge.
That smug bastard's voice is burned into my ears. His fucking offer and thinly veiled threats. The too-casual way he spoke about solutions like he was handing out party favors.
Fenrir paces under my skin, claws scraping, teeth bared. The steering wheel creaks under my grip.
