Lone Star Mountain so hold your love and your truth

A firing of questions—he had used up her patience, it seemed, and her gaze swung back to him, a crackling of embers within her eyes as her hackles bristled.

He studied her—a nod given at her words. The flex of his paws smoothed over the rocky loam, but it was the pinprick of that familiar headache that plagued him. “Okay,” he acquiesced. He wouldn’t demand to know why—no more than he would not expect a wolf who he was uncomfortable with to be loitering so near the creek to retaliate with stubbornness.

Instead, he swept past her—a wide berth, for they were no longer pack—and her ire was not missed. “Thank you, little panther,” he murmured—eyes grazing over her one last time.