Astrid’s POV Damn this shoulder. The medics in this gods-forsaken pack might have been skilled, but the wound still throbbed with a vengeance whenever I dared move carelessly. It's been throbbing like a stubborn reminder of everything that's gone to hell. Still, the sting on my shoulder was a minor nuisance compared to the chaos this whole drama has brought. Tiring. If it were up to me, I'd have taken the simpler route. Find Eamon. Put a blade to his throat. Ended this shit weeks ago. No drawn-out drama, no unnecessary casualties. Just clean, precise elimination. But no, the Alpha had other ideas. Grand, sprawling plans that always seemed to draw more blood than they saved. Even so, those schemes were beginning to bear fruit, though. Like moths to a flame, the rogues were rallying. One shared enemy—a clever tactic to dissolve their generational hatred, sure. But the cost? Too damn high. I hissed under my breath as another jolt of pain shot through me
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