Scarlett

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, fingers tracing the scar that ran from my collarbone to my shoulder. Five years of carrying these marks, of letting them define me. My wolf, Ray, pressed close to my consciousness, offering silent comfort.

“You need to eat,” she reminded me gently, even though she was still angry with me.

I’d been avoiding the pack dining hall, taking all my meals in my room. But the doctor had been clear - if I wanted to ...