The night was endless.
I lay in my hut—alone now, since Damon no longer shared my bed—staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the pack settling into uneasy sleep. The battle had been won, the Red Claw driven back, but there was no celebration. No victory fires, no triumphant howls.
Because everyone knew.
By morning, the story had spread through the pack like wildfire. The Luna and the Beta. The betrayal. The Alpha's broken heart. I saw it in every face that looked at me as I walked to the healing hut—disappointment, judgment, curiosity. Some turned away. Others whispered behind their hands.
Marta met me at the door, her expression carefully neutral. "You shouldn't be here."
"There are wounded who need me."
"They need a healer. They don't need the drama you're bringing."
