Corin
After Mason left, the room suddenly felt larger, yet somehow colder. The air still vibrated with tension, and my lips still pulsed from his fierce and demanding kiss. My mother remained silent for a while, simply watching me as I stood in the center of the room, disheveled and bloodstained, yet somehow different. I was no longer the broken girl she had left in the kitchen of the Silver Stone pack.
“Sit down, Corin,” she said softly at last. “Let me clean your wounds.”
I obeyed and sat in the chair beside the fireplace. She brought warm water and a soft cloth, then gently began to wipe the dust and blood from my face. Her movements were familiar, careful, but her gaze remained searching.
“I saw what happened in the courtyard,” she began as she cleaned a cut above my brow. “I heard
