Lyra
I walked slowly down the corridor toward the guest wing, the hem of my long dress brushing against the polished wooden floors. My thoughts were on what Killian and I had just done. We seemed to solve our fights with explosive s*x and I loved it.
The hallways smelled faintly of herbs, lavender and chamomile, a lingering reminder of my mother’s touch. This was the place Killian had first insisted I stay, the cold corner of the pack house meant for overnight guests, not mates. I thought I would hate coming back here, but something inside me was pulling, urging me to see her.
My mother’s door was slightly ajar, light spilling through the c***k. I pushed it open gently, my heart lifting with the thought of seeing her resting. But when I stepped inside, the bed was made, sheets smoothed
