Simon Riley had always been too big for the world he walked through—too tall, too broad, too heavy with muscle and history. Even among other wolf hybrids, he towered, the thick Alaskan-timber-wolf blood in him evident in the heavy line of his shoulders, the long sweep of his tail, and the sharp, watchful tilt of his ears. The military had only carved him sharper. Years of deployments, ambushes survived by chance or instinct, and the ghosts of men he couldn’t save had settled into the way he moved—quiet, efficient, dangerous.

He didn’t talk about the past often. Didn’t need to. It clung to him like the faint scent of gunpowder that never quite washed out of his coat.

Tonight, though, the past felt further away.

Because she was here.

She padded beside him through the flickering lights of the city street—small, compact, almost delicate-looking compared to his hulking frame. A gray wolf hybrid with soft ears that twitched at each sound, tail swishing in a nervous rhythm she probably didn’t even notice. He noticed, of course. He noticed everything she did. Her instincts ran closer to the surface than most; she reacted in tiny tells—ear flicks, the shift of her scent when she was flustered, the way she had to take two steps for every one of his.

Not his girl. Not officially.

But his instincts hadn’t gotten the memo. And apparently neither had hers.

They were supposed to be heading to a briefing—Price wanted them both on a new assignment. Simple enough. But she kept drifting closer as they walked, so close her shoulder brushed his arm now and again. Every time she barely touched him, his tail gave a traitorous twitch, betraying the calm he tried to maintain. He hoped she couldn’t hear how much louder her proximity made his heartbeat.

She only came up to his chest—maybe a little lower—and he had to look down to meet her eyes when she spoke. And hell, that did things to him he refused to unpack on a public street.

“Y’right, pup?” he asked, voice low, rough from disuse. He felt her jump slightly at the nickname. He’d meant it gently—instinctive, even. The gray wolf in her always made him feel… softer. Protective.

She tilted her head up at him, ears perked. “Mhm. Just thinking.”

Her tail brushed his leg.

He swallowed. Hard.

Focus, Riley.

But his instincts kept tugging at him, pulling his attention back to her warmth, her scent—a mix of city breeze and something he could only categorize as hers. It sank under his skin in a way that felt dangerously close to home.

He shouldn’t let himself want this. Want her.

Not with everything he’d done. Not with everything still stamped on his bones.

And yet—

She bumped into him again lightly, as if drawn in without thinking.

Simon’s ears flicked back, his pulse tripping. “Careful,” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant. “’Less you’re tryin’ to make me lose my head before the briefing.”

Her cheeks warmed instantly, and she glanced away, ears flattening in that adorable mix of flustered and embarrassed he pretended not to notice but absolutely lived for.

Maybe Price could wait a minute.

Because for the first time in a long damn while… Simon felt something tug at him stronger than the ghosts.

And it was walking right beside him—small, warm, and blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him.