Ella
When Sinclair left, all my wolf wanted to do was climb up to the highest tower of the Prince’s palace and howl into the sky, to cry out for our mate until our combined voices went hoarse. Instead I allowed myself a single hour of wallowing – I climbed into a bubble bath, turned on the saddest song I could find and cried until my tears ran dry. Afterwards I pulled myself together and got dressed, even though I could feel Sinclair slipping further and further away with every minute that passed.
We’ve never been this far apart since my wolf woke, and I’m amazed by how keenly I can feel his absence. As he drove away, Sinclair’s beloved voice continued to sound in my mind, I love you, Ella. I love you, Rafe. But it faded in perfect synchrony with the widening gulf between our hearts
