Then I forced it all down. Forced myself to stay calm.
"Mother, Father, Ronan—I'm home."
I glanced around the firelit hall with practiced ease. "Oh, we have a guest?"
My eyes landed on the Omega tucked against my mate's side, and I smiled. "Isn't this Raven Ashthorne?"
I slipped off my fur-lined cloak and sat down at the feasting table like nothing was wrong.
Inside, I was bleeding out. The pain was more than I could bear.
But my pride—my dignity—demanded composure.
I picked up my eating knife, took a bite of roasted elk, and gave my pack-mother an appreciative nod.
"Mother, this herb-crusted elk is my absolute favorite. Thank you for the wonderful surprise."
I lifted a cup of warmed honey mead and let it burn down my throat.
Then I turned a bright smile toward my pack-father.
"I do love a good strong mead. This is excellent—thank you for warming it, Father."
The drink hit my stomach, and warmth spread through my veins.
I wasn't cold anymore. Feeling returned to my fingers and toes. And the tension in the longhouse? I'd wound it tight as a wolf ready to spring.
Ronan Nightclaw finally cracked. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I caught the faint glow of his Alpha eyes.