GARRETT
I FEEL EMILY WAKE SLOWLY.
I've been up since dawn. Wolves are crepuscular—most active at twilight and dawn—and as such, we're early risers by nature.
As I watch the pale sun rise into the wintry sky, I savor the feel of my mate in my arms. In my bed.
I've still got my arm draped over her stomach. Now that she's awake, her fingers trace the mountain range tattooed on my forearm.
"Sleep good?" I murmur, lips brushing her ear.
"Like a rock. I'm not even hungover."
"You didn't have much. You're just a lightweight."
She turns over so she faces me. Her eyes are still sleepy. Her skin is radiant, her hair all lush-sexy bedhead.
If I can wake up to this vision for the rest of my days, I'll die a happy man.
Her phone buzzes on the nightstand. She glances at it. Blinks. Frowns.
I can't see what's on the screen, but whatever it is, she's not happy about it.
"Everything okay?" I ask, knowing already it's not.
