Alpha Draven said coldly as he eased Freya back into her chair.
Freya's mother, who had arrived with her, sneered with contempt.
“What claim does a barren she-wolf have to the title of Luna? She's useless. Freya, eat. You carry my grandpup, the future Alpha. A wolf who can’t bear young is no different than a broken fang. Who else would want her?”
They didn’t realize my decision to leave wasn’t out of emotion—it was final.
I had no intention of ever stepping a paw back into that packhouse again.
Just as I reached the entrance, Draven called out, his voice as commanding as ever.
“Ella Moonfall.”
“Give that pregnant stray dog you’ve been sheltering to Freya. She’s always wanted another creature to give birth around the same time as her.”
I froze.
Outside, the small injured fox-like pup tied beneath the trees gave a whine, sensing me.
I remembered how Alpha Draven had once kicked the tiny creature with disgust when I’d tried to feed her.
I had begged him on my knees to let me keep her. He’d agreed—barely—but only if I left her outside, chained.
Now, all it took was a whim from Freya, and suddenly he was sentimental.
When I didn’t respond, Alpha Draven clicked his tongue in annoyance.