JORDAN:
The room was quiet except for the sound of her breathing. Xena slept on the couch in my office, wrapped in a thin blanket that barely covered her shoulders. The bruises along her jaw had darkened, ugly reminders of what she endured.
I sat beside her, pressing a cloth soaked in herbs gently against her skin, meant for healing, but all it did was make me angrier.
My hands trembled, my wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, claws itching to tear, to revenge. But what good would that do? If I killed the men who hurt her, another would replace them. Because this wasn’t just about them, it was about us. I had ignored this for years. The whispers, the tamed voices. The way omegas hide when warriors pass by. I thought it was just the way things were — a system too old to challenge.
But
