32. His abandoned desire.

Devon had not killed her.

She should hate him for locking away her wolf. She should resent him for taking away the one thing that defined her. But wasn't this still better than death? Better than the fate that had befallen the others?

But if he had spared her, why could he not have waited? Why could he not have let her find her mate before stealing away the one part of her that might have mattered to someone?

Her thoughts shattered when Devon leaned in even closer, breaking down all her defenses. No matter how much she tried to think of anything else—anything but the situation she was in—it was useless. Everything else fell away.

Devon was naked behind her.

Panic clawed at her throat, the instinct to scream rising—only to be smothered by the deep inhale she hadn't meant to take.

She regretted it instantly.

The scent of his wolf—pure, untainted, dominant—wrapped around her senses drugging her, drowning her. Slowly killing her.