Fenris's double standards were nothing new. I'd experienced them so many times my wolf had gone numb to the sting.
I boxed up my last few pieces of clothing and a handful of leather-bound journals, summoned a pack courier, and had everything transported back to my parents' Bloodline Keep.
That evening, Fenris and I each received message-sigils inviting us to a gathering hosted by allied pack members at a prestigious estate.
Since the invitations had been sent separately—one to the Ashvale bloodline, one to the Duskmoors—we arrived on our own.
When I reached the moonlit vineyard grounds of the hosting pack, I saw Fenris helping Aurora descend from his carriage.
He caught my scent before he saw me, and something flickered across his features—discomfort, maybe guilt. Still, he approached. "I apologize. I should have sent a pack guard to escort you."
"No need." I kept my expression polished and pleasant. "I have my own escort."
As guests continued to arrive, someone asked curiously, "Alpha Duskmoor, when did you and the Ashvale daughter become so familiar?"
Fenris's mouth opened, but nothing emerged.