As I watched Seraphina shuffle into the bathroom ahead of me, my wolf paced anxiously within. Her slumped shoulders and the distance in her eyes tore at something primal inside me. She was hurting, and I was partly to blame. I shouldn't have walked out, no matter how furious her self-deprecation had made me.
I turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature to the hot, steamy level she preferred. Steam soon filled the spacious bathroom, fogging the mirrors as water cascaded into our oversized tub.
"Come here," I said softly, reaching for her nightgown.
She allowed me to slip it over her head, but her arms remained crossed over her chest, her eyes downcast. This wasn't the same bashful modesty I'd found so endearing when we first met. This was something deeper—a withdrawal, a defense.
