Jenny didn’t lift a finger.
Not to carry
Not to train
Not to clean.
Nothing to contribute to the pack.
She sat like a doll left on a chair, golden hair spilling like silk, her skin too smooth, eyes too big with fake innocence.
And when anyone so much as looked at her, she cried.
Soft, perfect tears.
Whispers of how Diesel had hurt her, how her mate had failed her, how she had been nothing but a prisoner, a slave, a broken thing and that I had left her in moon fury during my rescue.
The omega squad clung to her, horrified.
The elders shook their heads, muttering about cruelty.
Even the warriors softened, because what kind of wolf could harm something so delicate?
Everyone tried to help her with everything, she was Red Sorrows little Princess.
Only I, James, Chris and Torwald
