Every tree, every stream, every hunting trail there held memories of our childhood together—back when we had run through the forests as pups, before bonds and duty and heartbreak.
I was still lost in thought when he added casually, "Oh, and I received word that your father hasn't been well. Good timing to check on him."
"Father is ill?" I sat up abruptly, my wolf surging forward in alarm. "Why didn't I know about this?"
He soothed me immediately, pulling me back against his chest. "Don't worry. I only found out because the Den Keeper let it slip during her report. She said it's nothing serious—just the strain of his years catching up with him."
He tucked me closer into his arms. "So let's go see him."
I exhaled in relief and nodded, my wolf settling reluctantly.
I could not explain what I was hoping for, but strangely, that night he was unusually restrained. He simply held me—no wandering hands seeking more, no attempt to deepen our scent-bond through intimacy.
The change nagged at me, and an old pack saying surfaced unbidden in my mind.
When an Alpha suddenly loses interest in his mate's warmth, it's usually because his hunger has already been satisfied elsewhere.