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Stop looking, she told herself.

But she didn't.

They reached the sun-dappled clearing where the trees arched high, the light mottled through layers of leaves. It was the spot where she'd taken her best wolf shots. The air shimmered with life here.

She adjusted her settings and crouched low for a frame.

Behind her, there was a quiet rustle.

When she turned—

He was undressing.

Not slowly.

Just efficient. Unapologetic.

Boots. Shirt. Belt. Jeans.

Gods.

Broad chest. Carved abs. Veined forearms. That scar across his ribs she remembered tracing once with her lips. And—

Her face flamed.

She spun around. "Seriously?! You couldn't shiftbeforetaking everything off?!"

Behind her, he laughed. "Didn't want to rip the jeans. They were expensive."

A second later, there was the soft crackle of the shift and the whisper of movement.

A large brown wolf with familiar ice-blue eyes trotted past her and flopped down at her feet, massive head resting on his paws. Seren blinked at him.

"You are so smug," she muttered.

The wolf just huffed, his tail flicking.

She worked. Photographed trees, light, riverbank. Once or twice she forgot he was there, lost in her lens—until his warm body brushed her arm or he bumped her with his nose.

It felt like the old days.

At one point, she climbed up a low, sturdy tree to get the angle she wanted. Camera strap across her chest, foot balanced on a wide branch. She sat, heart pounding—not from the height.

Below her, Hagan circled in wolf form, then sat beneath the tree, his thick fur brushing her boots.

Her fingers drifted down without a thought, sinking into his fur.

Warm.

Safe.

His presence curled around her like a forgotten lullaby.

She whispered partly to herself, "Why couldn't it have been like this the first time?"

The wolf looked up at her.

His gaze... mournful.