Leo
“I'm fine,” I swallowed, the burn of whiskey still clinging to my throat and the metallic taste of blood still lingering.
My mother stood from alpha Matthews' side and walked towards me with concern and maternal instincts written all over her face.
Then she stopped midstep, she flared her nose as her eyes shifted immediately.
“ You've been drinking?” She uttered in a disappointed voice. It's more like a rhetorical question.
I don't dare to answer, I just look at her blankly. This was not what I was expecting on my way back, I didn't want her to see me like this.
Her eyes moved over my face — the split lip, the purple blooming beneath my eye, the way I’m holding my side just a little too stiff.
“Who did this?” she asks softly, but her voice trembles beneath it.
“I handled it,” I
