Finn

Five years since I walked away from her, letting my pride and hatred blind me.

From my position on the pack house balcony, I watched young wolves sparring on the training grounds below. Their laughter felt out of place, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within me.

“You’re brooding again," David remarked with a hint of displeasure as he approached, carrying two glasses of whiskey. “Third night this week.”

I accepted the offered drink without turning. “I’m not brooding.”

“Right.” He leaned against the railing. “And I suppose you’re staring at nothing in particular, not thinking about your mate and how she rejected you, right?”

The glass cracked...