Chapter 2

I stare at the drowned vegetable sprouts in my field, my whole body trembling with rage.

Beside me, Cynthia flinches, the wooden bucket still dangling from her hand.

Her eyes brim with tears.

"Sera, I didn't mean to," she whimpers. "I just wanted to help. I only gave them a little extra water, I swear, I didn't know they'd all die…"

She starts to sob.

The mating marks all over her bare skin are impossible to miss. I jerk my gaze away like I've been burned.

My chest feels sour and hot at the same time. I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

What's the point? The sprouts are already dead.

I unclench my fists and step forward to see what can still be saved.

But Cynthia's face goes white with shock.

She sways on her feet, then suddenly collapses forward.

Before I can even react, a force slams into me and shoves me sideways.

My knee cracks against a rock. Cold sweat floods my skin.

When I look up, Ethan is there. Still in his hunting leathers, dust and pine needles in his hair. He just got back. His eyes are red and feral.

He scoops Cynthia against his chest, and the look he gives me is pure accusation.

"Sera. You can't even tolerate her this much?"

My lips tremble. Then I smile at him, tired and sad.

"Did you see me do anything to her? Or do your eyes only show you what you've already decided to believe?"

He freezes. He looks around at the flooded field. He stays quiet for a long second.

"They're just sprouts, Sera. She was only trSerag to help. Don't take it this far."

Just sprouts.

I laugh through my nose. With one sentence, he just erased three years of my work.

Before me, this pack survived on raw kills. Sick guts, weak pups, half the litters dSerag before their first winter. I taught them to farm. I taught them to cook the meat right. That's why his pack thrived. That's why they made him Alpha.

And now he's calling it "just sprouts" to soothe the female who killed them.

"Ethan… my belly hurts," Cynthia whispers, burSerag her face in his throat.

She's stopped crSerag just enough to look pitiful, clinging to his arm like a vine.

His attention snaps to her like a leash pulled tight.

His big hand spreads over her stomach, rubbing in slow, careful circles. So gentle. Like he's afraid of bruising her.

Ethan was never a gentle male. He learned all of that, every soft touch, after we mated.

Every time I felt unwell, he'd hover at my side and refuse to leave, no matter how I tried to wave him off.

And now he's giving it, stroke for stroke,to another female.

My knee throbs. I lower my lashes. My nails bury themselves in the dirt.

"Ethan," I say. My voice cracks. "I hurt too."

He stops.

His lips part once, twice. He almost takes a step toward me.

I stare him down, my hand pressed over my wound, fingers shaking.

The next second, Cynthia's arms snap up around his neck.

"Blood…" she breathes.

Red runs down the inside of her thigh.

His face drains. He doesn't look at me again. He just sweeps her up and runs for the Pack Doctor.

I watch them disappear, the corner of my mouth twitching up. Whatever was left in me for him, the last thin thread of it, snaps clean.