The knight had been testing waters, pressing and crossing lines to see the reaction. She would rather begin in a harsh footing than a soft and malleable one. The results, at least with Matthias, were favourable. Integra inwardly celebrated this small victory. But he was too docile, too seeking her contact and for a second she saw a hellhound instead of a wolf, staring at her with mischievous red eyes.
He’s not coming back.
She reminded herself as she buried her hurt beneath the stoic mask she wore daily. Her hands reached for his ears, hesitantly scratching them.
“We need to talk,” she said, placing a hand on his muzzle, lifting his head to face hers. God. This was absurd. “Face to face.”