Cyra

The ride to my father’s pack, my pack, is tense. I know my father. I know he won’t go down without a fight. But how much fight will he put up? If it comes down to it, will he force me to kill him to take over the pack? Would he rather die than face the consequences of his actions?

Yorick pulls my hand to his mouth. The feel of his warm lips pressing against my skin helps to soothe me. We don’t have to talk anymore. He’s in my head, following along with my thoughts and concerns. ...