Her silent wolf

Henry stepped closer to Eleanor. The hairs at the back of her neck stood and goosebumps broke out all over her arms. She could feel the intensity of his eyes on her even without looking at him.

“Why is your wolf missing?” he asked, his voice so close to her ear.

Her heart sped, both at his closeness and his question. She swallowed and took a step back. Looking up at him, she asked, “What do you mean?”

There was no way he could know her wolf was missing. She still smelled like a werewolf, so what had given it away?

If anyone else had made such a discovery despite the lack of symptoms that something was wrong with her wolf, she would have been wary.

But somehow, she wasn’t afraid of revealing the truth to Henry. She was sure he wouldn’t harm her despite knowing her weakness.

It was crazy–she had only known him for a short time, and there was a lot about him that was still a mystery to her. And yet, she felt safe with him.

“I know your wolf is missing,” he told her. “You can tell me the