HIS WORDS WERE LACED WITH UNSPOKEN WARMTH, an affection that—in his human form, at least—he showed only to me. Still holding my chin, he rubbed his cheek once against mine and then tousled my hair, actions I both hated and loved since they simultaneously marked me as a child and as his.
“Be home by dusk, Bryn,” he told me, before taking his leave. “Trouble’s afoot.”
I harrumphed. I was a human who had been quite literally raised by wolves. In my world, trouble was always afoot