Lorraine's POV
"Fine, suit yourself, little wolf," Kieran said, his voice still that low, gravel deep rumble that always seemed to vibrate down my spine.
But it wasn't just the nickname that did something to me.
It was the way his gaze lingered on my lips, just a fraction of a second too long.
A look that felt like a touch.
Little wolf.
Goddess, how I'd missed hearing that from him.
His commanding presence.
His cold eyes that always somehow warmed when they met mine.
His voice, sharp, steady, powerful, yet unraveling me with just a word.
The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me.
I wanted to run into him, bury my face in his chest, breathe him in, hold him and never let go.
I wanted to show him that this, us, wasn't something that could be severed or forgotten just because the world was falling apart.
But this wasn't the time.
Enemies lurked in every shadow, and mourning still clung to him like a fresh wound. He literally lost both his parents. He needed time.
