This other man, attractive with long red-brown hair and wide green eyes, hasn’t missed Shayla’s tears. Every time he shifts his gaze to her, his soul flashes red with pain, and I know in my gut he’s reacting to her misery.
“Jamison,” Nolan murmurs.
“I thought Shayla and I…” He clears his throat. “I thought we spoke about—”
“We spoke about the needs of the pack taking precedence over personal, selfish wants. Didn’t we?”
The brief pause that follows Nolan’s words convinces me there was no such thing said.
Jamison stands a moment longer, his eyes shifting from Nolan to Shayla, and his fingers working a braided, woven band up and down his wrist, an identical band to the one high on Shayla’s arm. Then he returns to his seat without another word, because what else can he say when Nolan has
