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Prologue

Braxton

Gray Wolf Academy

Present Day

I wake with a start.

Skin slick with sweat, legs caught in a tangle of sheets, the strangled cry of her name yanks me out of my dream and into the bleakness of my current reality.

Tasha—Tasha, no!

My body jolts upright, chest heaving, gasping for breath.It was justa dream.I try to convince myself. Only a dream.But the words are a lie. Because the truth is, I watched as gravity failed. Watched as Elodie leaped onto the launchpad, grabbed Tasha’s hand, and a rush of wind swept them away.

And I have no idea when—or even if—they’ll return.

Outside, bright bursts of lightning blister the sky, as a hard-driving rain batters my windows so violently they quake in their frames.

Tasha is gone. And none of this—nothing—has gone as planned.

I sweep a hand across the barren stretch of sheets at my side, so desperate for a piece of her, I grab the pillow she used just a few hours before and shamelessly press it to my face, trying to capture whatever whisper of scent and warmth might remain.

Fuck. Tasha—why?

Oh, but you know why,my mind taunts.Tasha did the one thing you should’ve done long ago. Only you grew too comfortable. Too weak. You traded your destiny for a life of soft luxury, leaving her no choice but to act in your place.

I silence the thought, toss the pillow aside, and close my eyes tight, allowing an image of Tasha to bloom in my mind. The way she looked on that launchpad—so beautiful, heartbreakingly so. But it was the steely determination glinting in her green eyes that shook me to my core.

And me? I was so caught up in my own indignation, my own shock and hurt, I failed to tell her how immensely proud I am to call her my girl.

Failed to tell her that she’s the most courageous person I’ve ever known.

On my nightstand I find the letter she left me, and my gaze darts straight to the bottom of the page where she wrote those four life-changing words:I love you, Braxton.

Even after all that I’ve done, even after confessing I was there when Killian murdered her father, Natasha Antoinette Clarke. Loves. Me. Whatever fate has in store from this point on, at least I have that.

I trace a finger over thexoxothat precedes her name, conjuring a memory of her kiss so vivid, damn if my body doesn’t immediately respond.

Tasha.

In my mind, I see her beautiful face angling toward me.

My darling Tasha.

I watch as her eyelids fall heavily, her lips softly part.

Instinctively, my hand reaches down, recalling the contour of her waist, the swell of her breasts, the heat of her legs wrapped tightly around me.

Fuck. Tasha.Where the hell did you go?

My hand begins to move. Just the mere thought of her has me so far gone, it won’t take long.

But no.

My hand stills.

No.There’s no time for an indulgence like this.