Layleen
I take another cautious step as I round the packhouse, careful to move quietly, avoiding any unnecessary noise that might draw unwanted attention.
The crisp night air soothes my nerves, unraveling the tight knots of anxiety in my chest. Out here, beneath the open sky, I can finally breathe again.
Maybe it's the pine trees.
Their scent lingers in the cool air, fresh and grounding. It reminds me of Alpha Ragnar—of the way he smells like pine, bark, and spice. I wonder if his skin has simply absorbed the scent of the forest… or if it's the forest that has absorbed the scent of him.
I shake off the ridiculous thought and press forward, keeping to the shadows as I quietly observe my surroundings.
To my left, a group of men sit on the porch, engrossed in a game of poker. Glasses of amber liquor glint under the moonlight as they drink, groaning in frustration or bursting into laughter at their wins and losses. They seem at ease, absorbed in their own little world.
