Jade Fern Grove there is a house in new orleans they call the rising sun

D:

She tried to shirk him off now, and his own flame ignited a spark, feeling her anger emanate silently form her. She tried to take the role on by herself, and the man could not withhold a bitter snort. “No, you’re not chasing down a bear alone,” he ground out, his tone clipped, but otherwise making a simple statement.
 
As if to embellish this point, the cinnamon wolf pushed past her, taking the lead on the trail and casting his eyes purposely outward through the greenery before them rather than even glancing at his mate. If she wanted to play the bait game, he was not willing to play.