"It was different, like it was on another level entirely. Something inside me was telling me you were in trouble."
Stan went very still. In the small private back of his head, the moment settled into place with the soft, clean precision of a puzzle piece finding its slot.
He asked her the exact time she started feeling like that and upon hearing her reply, his eyes widened in surprise...
The moment she started feeling this was back when he met the four werewolves. And that despicable Elder fang or whatever he is called, who had beaten him halfway across a stretch of glacial ice.
The face-drag, the broken ribs. The specific moment somewhere in the middle of it when he had, in the small honest back of his own head, understood that he was going to die on that ice if he did not do something impossible in the next several seconds.
That time, that exact moment. He had been trying so hard to forget all about this but it all just keeps coming back...
