Kyra's POV
The musky scent of cedar clung to the halls like a persistent reminder. Kieran had been avoiding me since the night he dragged me back from those kidnappers, his golden eyes cutting through me like I was prey before stalking away. An entire week had passed without a single word. Not a single mind link, no accidental encounters in the house corridors, not even a glance in my direction.
My wolf whined low, torn between gratitude for his protection and frustration at his distance.
"He thinks you fear him," Sylvia murmured, her ears flattening. "We need to fix this."
I knew it was because I had flinched when he reached for me last time—the memory of those kidnappers' claws and how Kieran shot them was still too fresh. He couldn't blame me, but I couldn't help feeling guilty for making him feel that way after he saved me.
With a plan to make it up to him, I went downstairs one afternoon to cook for him.
