Angry? What was angry? Raging? Had nothing on me. More like a pyroclastic meltdown with a side order of hell no.

I was not pacing the thick, cream carpet of a second floor bedroom with my hands so tightly fisted I couldn't feel them anymore. Nor was my wereguard prone on the matching comforter with some kind of liquid metal shoved in her mouth and wrapped around her head, the same oozing stuff pinning her arms and legs so tightly all she could do was tremble and stare at me ...