Three months after my parents' funeral, I sat alone in the pack house surrounded by memories of happier times. Crying, not knowing how I would lead our pack or protect them.
The door opened quietly, and I looked up to see Noah standing there. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over to where I was sitting and placed a hand on my shoulder. His touch was comforting.
"I heard about your parents." His tone softened slightly. "I’m sorry for your loss."
I forced back the tears that sprung to my eyes and forced a polite smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. "Thank you."
"I imagine things have been… difficult," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
Difficult was an understatement. After my parents' deaths, our pack had fallen into chaos. Rogues had seen the loss of our leadership as an opportunity to try and take over. With our warriors thinned and our resources drained, we had barely managed to hold them off.
"That’s one way to put it," I muttered, not wanting to get into the details with a stranger.
But Noah wasn’t deterred. His gaze hardened, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Rogues have been pushing into your territory, haven’t they?"