After blocking Trent, I found myself at my mother’s grave, my claws gently tracing her name on the cold stone. My human father had died when I was just a pup, leaving my werewolf mother to raise me alone in the shadows of the pack. Her only wish was to see me mated to Trent, but that dream had died with her.
As I stood there, mourning, Trent appeared, supporting Winona, who held an urn. The scent of death clung to them both. "Trent, this place is close to my den. If I bury my baby here, it’s like he never left," Winona whispered, her voice carrying over the wind. The "baby" she spoke of was no child but a beloved pet puppy she had adopted.
I was ready to leave when Trent blocked my path, his eyes dark with suspicion. "Are you following me?"
The accusation stung, but I had no fight left in me. "No, I’m just leaving," I growled low, turning away.
But Winona wasn’t finished. "Niana," she purred, her eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction, "my puppy died, and Trent stayed with me for his funeral. Please, don't misunderstand." Her words were honeyed, but the look she gave me was a challenge.
"Good for you," I muttered, resisting the urge to bare my fangs.