HOPE
I promise I'm breathing oxygen and not the exotic and erotic scent of Asher. Believe me. I swear.
We stay in that position for a few more minutes before I hear a squeak and pop — the sound of a glass frame expanding.
The sound continues until about ten to seventeen windows have been opened and the fog begins to clear. I can sense that because Asher's breathing has steadied a little and his heart is now making about twenty-five beats per minute.
"Can I help you?" a gentle, manly voice says, tapping Asher on the back. The voice is oddly unfamiliar and kind.
I squeeze my face out of Asher's jacket — any minute longer without oxygen would lead to brain damage. I'm able to stay this long because my wolf feels very comfortable with his scent.
The middle-aged man staggers once his eyes catch Jeremy's face. The amusement in Asher's eyes and the fucking curiosity in the man's show they know each other well.
