Hazel didn't show her face at the healer's den after that, and—surprise, surprise—neither did Damian, despite his big talk about staying by my side. My heart didn't even ripple anymore. All I felt was hate. For years, I'd been his loyal pup, coming when he called, dismissed when he was done.
The day I was discharged, Juliana came to get me. "Back to the old den," she said, eyeing my pale face. "You look like hell. The Lowe pack can't see you like this, or they'll ask questions."
"Fine," I mumbled, docile as a whipped pup.
Juliana studied me, her gaze softening for a split second. If my bloodline wasn't such a stain on the pack, she might've actually liked me. I'm not hard to get along with—gentle, even. But that's never been enough.
Back at the den, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling
