Page 23 of Wanderlust With Wolves

Would he?

Luna said the festivities don’t officially begin until midnight, when the moon is high in the sky.

But she let me start early, placing my ribbons along the path, spreading my scent through the forest like a whispered invitation.

That’s wild, isn’t it?

That wulvers can track someone just by scent? That they can follow invisible trails, knowing exactly who left them?

I wonder what I smell like to them.

What I smell like to Ronan.

I bite my lower lip, adjusting my grip on the final ribbon.

He said he’d be seeing me later.

Did he mean this?

Did he mean tonight?

I hope so.

With that thought lingering dangerously close to somethingwicked, I tie my last ribbon to a branch.

And then?—

A low, rumbling growl vibrates through the air.

I feel it before I hear it—a sound that sinks into my bones, slides like liquid heat down my spine.

It unfurls something in my gut, makes my heart skip, my knees buckle, makes secret places in my body throb.

I whirl around.

And there he is.

Ronan.

Silhouetted against the moon, like I conjured him from my thoughts.

His golden eyes burn, locked onto me with terrifying intensity.

And in his clawed hands?—

Ribbons.

All of them.

Every. Single. One.

My breath catches as he stalks toward me, slow and deliberate, his massive form moving like a predator closing in on prey.

I part my lips, about to call out, demand to know what he’s doing?—

And then he reaches up, tugging another ribbon from a branch without breaking eye contact.

A pulse of hot, electric tension stretches between us.

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