The bond thrummed between them like a second heartbeat, alive and insistent, as moonlight faded to pre-dawn gray filtering through the blinds. Thessian stirred first, his alpha senses sharpening even in sated exhaustion—nostrils flaring at a faint, acrid whiff seeping under the apartment door. Not smoke from the city streets below, but something sharper: wolfsbane residue, the poison scent of rogue pack scouts prowling Nairobi's shadows.
Liora felt it too, unbidden—a prickling pull in her gut, his alertness bleeding through the golden link like ice water in her veins. Her eyes snapped open, hand flying to the throbbing mark on her shoulder. Danger. Close. The thought wasn't hers alone; it echoed his, crisp and urgent.
"Thessian?" she whispered, bolting upright, sheets tangling around her naked form. The room smelled of them—sex, blood, sweat—but now overlaid with threat.
