JAIME’S POV
The ceremonial robe feels heavy on my shoulder. But it’s nothing compared to the pressure I feel in my chest. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The dark robe marks me as the Alpha in mourning. My head pounds from last night—too much whiskey, too many fists, and not enough sense. My ribs ache from the beating, but none of it hurts as much as the memory of Carissa’s death.
My wolf is silent. There’s a hollow void where his presence used to be. He’s mourning her too. She’s gone, and it’s my fault. The wolfsbane knife was meant for me, but she took the hit without a second thought. I treated her like s**t. I pushed her away, ignored her, hurt her in ways I can never take back. And yet, she sacrificed herself for me.
I don’t deserve to miss her, not after the way I treated
