Rymora stood aside, making sure not to make herself visible from start to finish the entire time they were in the werewolf realm. She remained at the edges of every gathering, her presence carefully muted, her scent masked as best as she could manage. She went as far as hiding herself the very second she noticed Gregory—her previous fiancé—or anyone who had known her in the past coming too close for comfort. The risk was too great. One wrong glance, one familiar scent, and everything would be over.
Beyond that, because of how worried she was about Lord Drehk—whom she could not take her eyes off as she watched him fight—her plan to run away instantly took a backseat. Fear wrapped tightly around her chest each time he was struck or surrounded. Logic told her he was strong, more than capable of handling himself, but her heart refused to listen. She tracked his every movement, her body tense, breath shallow, silently begging him to remain standing.
