Waldo leaned down, growling low like a beast, and captured Regina's trembling, pain-soaked lips in a savage kiss.
His wolf eyes—burning with fire and moonlight—locked onto her face. He didn't know if the fury boiling in him was because of the bruises marring her skin, the fragile way she whispered his name, or that one word she whimpered: "Waldo, it hurts…"
He had grown up among blood and brutality, shaped by the merciless training of their pack. Pain was a constant, something to be endured, not lamented. But hearing it from her—so faint, so fragile—it seared through his nerves like silver, awakening something feral and protective deep inside him.
Martin had stood up, his expression stunned as he watched Waldo kiss the unconscious Regina with a force that bordered on desperation. He couldn't understand it—this wasn't the Waldo they all knew. His eyes narrowed with a tinge of curiosity and wariness.