Ravensblood Forest Let our hearts be the only sound.

At one important junction of Constantine’s life, the shadowrunner had pressed the matter of control upon others. He had insisted such from his fellow pack mates in Donnelaith – particularly, Rowan and the pregnancy she had claimed was begotten from his father. Casmir had vocally announced his own thoughts on the matter – that during the time of a she-wolf’s heat, there was little control, and neither of the party should have been to blame. Constantine hadn’t believed him then – having been able to avoid such antics in the past, even during his more youthful and unrestrained days when he had run with Tartok.
 
Durnehviir, however, was irresistible to him at any given time, and so when he had noticed the change of her scent, he had remained a vigilant guard to her, but one that remained in the shadows of the sequoias. He was more guarded around Samothes and Screech now, ensuring either male kept a fair distance from the she-wolf he might as well as called his own, though neither had made it official. But he did not seek her company out – not when he had yet to raise a council for the pack, and their ranks remained thinner than he would like for the care of rambunctious puppies.
 
That, and he doubted his ability to be a father.
 
He hadn’t been far from her, skirting through the forest of their newly claimed home. But the wind teased him as her scent became stronger, and he realized she sought him then. With wolfish brows arched upward in what could very easily appear a ‘deer caught in headlights’ expression, the Mayfair wolf froze, his bright eyes catching a flash of crimson fur.