RAYNE
The air inside the diner was thick with antiseptic and the iron tang of blood.
It had become a makeshift infirmary during the day. I needed to tend to the wounded bodies and broken spirits of my pack members.
I knelt on the floor as I tended to Lana. She was a tiny pup, barely six years old, with big brown eyes.
Her arm was a mess. It had been dislocated during the invasion.
And while her small wolf was trying its best to knit the tissue back together, the bone remained out of alignment.
The area was hot to the touch, inflamed and swollen into a lump at the shoulder.
Her mother stood nearby, her hands hovering but never touching. She was too terrified of the screams that came every time Lana moved.
"Lana, look at me," I whispered, patting her long brown hair.
She was
