Liam

The lacrosse field hummed with shouts and the clatter of sticks. Liam, still unaccustomed to his wolf nature, tried to concentrate, but the air was strange—heavy, saturated with damp earth, and with a shudderingly familiar scent. Liam's fear had always been his aggression: he was afraid of losing control, especially around Mia.
He froze, letting the ball pass. His nostrils flared. Mint. Coffee. That tinge of fear and tenderness.

“Mia,” he breathed out.

His heart pounded in his throat. Liam pulled off his helmet, his yellow eyes darting around the stands. The full moon hung over Beacon Hills, but he felt only relief.

He saw her by the fence—a small figure in a denim jacket. Mia looked at him, nervously fiddling with her sleeve. Liam wanted to rush toward her, but he froze. Last full moon, he'd almost killed her. His eyes glowed yellow, and he backed away, afraid to hurt her.

She stepped onto the field. He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.

“Liam, I…” she began.

But he had already scooped her up in his arms, holding her tightly to him. The helmet fell to the ground. Liam buried his face in her neck, his shoulders shaking.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Just give me a minute.”

Memory brought back memories of Mexico: a dusty street, berserkers, steel over her head, the terror of the thought that he might not make it in time. And now she was here—warm, alive, looking at him with brown eyes.

"I missed you too," Mia breathed, cupping his face in her hands. "Look at me. Just control it, okay?"