After Audrey finished speaking, she brushed past him and headed for the stairs.
Rowan froze immediately, the air tightening around him. Even his wolf, usually so attuned, seemed disoriented, unsure how to respond.
What part of her words had rattled him like that?
What had she meant by that?
For years, he had carried a memory carved like a scar beneath his skin. The night in the forest replayed every time the moon rose high—the ambush, the glint of a silver blade, his startled inhale before the steel came rushing toward him.
He had been stabbed. He had collapsed. He had bled out on the cold ground until his heartbeat faltered and the world darkened.
And in the last flickering moments of consciousness, he had seen a woman kneel over him.
But it had not been Audrey.
No—he remembered Lisa. Not Audrey.
A bitter laugh threatened to escape, but instead something coiled in his chest, tightening until it felt as if his wolf were clawing to get out.
