The wielders are coming, and they're ready for violence.
With a cub in her arms, Arietta James, a dedicated vet technician in training, flees for her life and the life of the little shifter she's ready to die to protect. Her escape lands her right i...
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The next morning, Arietta woke up before the sunrise. The moonlight had disappeared from the skylight in her room, but the bright rays of the early morning sun were not yet peeking through the edges of the window.
She stretched her arms over her head. Her brain had adjusted easily to the early morning hours the shifters liked to keep. Though she was naturally a light sleeper. Despite the relative safety she found here with the shifters, she still slept in what felt like 20 minute increments, whichwere interrupted frequently by the thought of yesterday. Particularly how it felt to have Gavriel's hands on her as he scolded her for making a foolish decision.
She'd known it was foolish. But what was the other option? Who would have gotten hurt if she'd stayed out of it?
As the moon traveled deeper into the night sky, she laid awake, remembering the look on Gavriel's face. At the time, she hadn't been able to figure out his expression. The more she thought about it, the more it looked exactly like the one her mother gave her when she'd strayed too close to the street as a child.
Concern.
But Gavriel couldn't be concerned about her. She was an enemy who had bullied her way into the wrong territory. At most, she was nothing but a nuisance to him.
So why would he be concerned about her?
Arietta ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as they snagged on hidden knots in her curls. Had she done the right thing? Was Gavriel right? Did she have a right to interfere in shifter matters at all? Was she overstepp—
A light knock sounded at the door.
Arietta's heart missed a beat.
She threw back the covers, padded over to the door, and pulled the lever handle. "Gavriel." She stared at him. "I thought—"
"May I come in?"
Arietta blinked. "Y-yes, of course." She opened the door more fully, allowing him entry.
This morning, Gavriel was in a suit. Or rather, what she imagined he considered a suit. Dark jeans, a black button up, and black suit jacket over broad shoulders. The jacket was fitted and kept to his frame without being too tight for movement. His hair was combed and styled. He looked... he looked...
Arietta swallowed. She resisted the urge to press the backs of her fingers to her cheeks. Gavriel was here and put together, while she had tangled, messy sleep hair and morning breath.
Embarrassment washed over her skin, hot and burning. When was the last time she had enough security and general comfort that she could afford the emotion?
She couldn't remember.
"My magic is under control," she said to him. "I told you the other day, I'm not in danger of another excessive buildup. Especially not since—" Not since yesterday.
