"Sometimes the fiercest battles are fought not with swords, but with silence, sarcasm, and the refusal to admit what the heart already knows."
Marcus's POV
They said wolves were creatures of instinct, quick to temper, prone to growling first and regretting later. Juno proved that theory in every breath. He prowled along the balustrade of the outer garden like a restless hound, eyes darting over shadows, his shoulders loose in that infuriatingly casual way. I, on the other hand, had been told more than once that I resembled a cat, silent, meticulous, and entirely unwilling to chase sticks unless there was a point.
Which was perhaps why we had been paired tonight: to watch our masters circle each other like two suns too stubborn to admit their gravity.
"Do you ever get the feeling," Juno said, breaking the quiet with a lazy drawl, "that we're little more than glorified babysitters in all this?"
I arched a brow. "Only just now realizing that, are you?"
