It's Grayson who steps out first.
The black car's door opens like a slow exhale, and the lights from the streetlights spill over him, highlighting his sharp jaw, rolled sleeves, and that maddening calm that says he knows exactly how much oxygen he steals from a place. The crowd quiets almost instantly. Even the chatter from the seniors thins into a hush.
Heidi's wolf stirs like she's been jolted by lightning.
His scent flies to her nose. It is wild and winter-cold, and it shouldn't smell like home but does. It coils around her senses, dragging its claws across her nerves.
She sucks in a breath. No, no, not this again.
Her wolf growls again. "By the Moon, our wolf is a work of art."
"Shut up," Heidi mutters under her breath, because the last thing she needs is a furry cheerleader reminding her of the very problem standing twenty feet away in the kind of shirt that should be outlawed.
