I instinctively back up against the bookshelf, freezing when he puts his hands on my shoulders. My body melts in response to his touch. Maybe I will take those suppressants, after all. "I'm going to miss you," he says, his voice low and intimate. The rich tone of it feels like hot water cascading over me. "Is there any part of you that's going to miss me? Even a little?" I swallow hard, because there is one part of me that already misses him more than I want to admit, and if he steps any closer, he’s going to figure that out. "Nope," I lie. "Sorry, bro. But good luck with your, uh, wolf war
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