Daniel arrived swiftly, his presence sharp and alert within the pack's hierarchy, and the moment he saw Hayley draining liquor in haste, he intervened at once, taking the glass from her grasp as if correcting a subordinate's reckless instinct. "Don't drink like this, Miss Seymour. You'll make yourself ill," he warned, his tone controlled but firm, reflecting both concern and authority.
"Daniel." She rose and closed the distance between them, suddenly pressing herself into his space and wrapping her arms around him. I could sense the instability in her emotions, the way her need for comfort overrode restraint—she was reaching for connection, even if it wasn't the bond she truly wanted.
His body stiffened at the contact, instincts reacting before reason could settle. He attempted to create distance, but her grip tightened around his neck, anchoring him in place. "Don't leave me too, Daniel. Hold me," she murmured, her voice lowered into something vulnerable and pleading.
