Ella Tears are streaming down Sinclair’s face as he relives his Mother’s death, and I’m doing my best not to burst into outright sobs. My heart aches for the little boy he once was, and for the burden he obviously still carries today. Hearing this story, I understand that his last conversation with
“Shhh,” Sinclair tucks my head under his chin, stroking my spine. “It’s okay, little wolf. I know.” “Stop comforting me! I’m supposed to be comforting you.” I complain. Trying and failing to wriggle free. “You are.” Sinclair lies – the rat. “It comforts me just holding you this way.” Settling, I
Ella Hugo, Sinclair and I are all staring at the television with wide eyes and slack jaws, unable to process the images flitting across the screen. It seems like every time we manage to take a few steps forward, Lydia and the Prince find a way to send us reeling back – and this is no exception.
“Well of course not.” Hugo scoffs, “You don’t need to convene a blue-ribbon committee to tell you this is all fucked six ways to Sunday.” “No, I mean, I feel like I’m missing something.” Sinclair replies drying. “There’s something bothering me and I just can’t put my finger on it.” “Well, you’ve
Ella When Sinclair and Hugo finally leave for the pack headquarters, Henry and I move into our favorite sitting room, returning to the puzzle we began solving together earlier this week. Seated across from the older wolf, I pretend to scan the scattered puzzle pieces for matches, while really snea
“I know.” I laugh, snatching up a distinctive puzzle piece belonging to my current focus area. “But I think I got us distracted. I was asking you about Lydia.” “Darling, when you have all day, diversions are a blessing, not a curse.” Henry advises warmly, patting the arms of his wheelchair. “The f
Ella I’ve been replaying my conversation with Henry all day long, repeating the exchange over and over in my mind and trying to decipher if the old Alpha was trying to warn me as a mere precaution, or because he really believes we have something to be worried about. After Henry left this evening I
He drops his head to the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent and rumbling deep in his chest. “If I lose the campaign…” He begins slowly, his voice like gravel in my ear. “It will all depend on how fast the Prince moves, and where we are when it happens.” Sinclair doesn’t say any more, and I nud