Lucia Silverheart

The scent hit her first.

Warm. Wild. Like smoke curling off firewood and the first breath of rain before it falls. It stopped her in the middle of the farmer’s market, basket in hand, surrounded by noise and people and sunshine—and suddenly none of it mattered.

Her chest tightened. Her breath caught. Her knees wobbled.

“No…” she whispered. But her wolf was already howling.

She turned. Slowly. Instinct pulled her gaze before thought could catch up.

And there he was.

Big. Broad. Still. Alpha.

The crowd blurred. Her pulse drowned everything else out. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she felt him—felt the weight of him in her soul like a missing piece clicking into place.

She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Her fingers clenched the handle of her basket. She tried to look away, to retreat—to think.

But then he looked up.

Eyes locked.

Heat bloomed in her belly like lightning striking open earth. Her body flushed, trembling, every inch of her crying out his. Her wolf pressed against her skin, desperate, purring and pleading and pushing.

His nostrils flared. His jaw flexed.

He felt it too.

Lucia took a shaky breath and gave him a small, uncertain smile—shy, instinctual, afraid of what came next but unable to walk away.

When he took a step toward her, her feet refused to move. Her whole body lit up in response. Her lashes fluttered. Her breath hitched.

And then—softly, sweetly, unable to say anything else—she whispered:

“You found me…”