Harper
A few days later, Elise decided I needed what she called “normal social exposure.”
Apparently, normal social exposure in a werewolf pack meant being dragged out to a late afternoon hangout near the training fields, where several younger warriors had built a small fire pit surrounded by rough wooden benches.
It was not exactly a café, but at least there were snacks.
“And you are not allowed to sulk,” Elise informed me as we walked toward the clearing.
“I’m not sulking,” I said automatically.
“You were sulking this morning.”
“I was thinking intensely.”
She snorted. “You were glaring at a tree like it personally keyed your car.”
I rolled my eyes. “That tree knew what it did.”
She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
We stepped into the clearing where three of Elise’s friends were a
