Blackfeather Woods The demons of our past lives

The joy that fluttered around him suddenly morphed into a dull feeling of confusion. Damien expected a diligent welcome and perhaps even being escorted down the forest to find Cicero sitting in a dark corner, where he was surely tripping on some new herb. That's how things were supposed to be. But Damien was met by a look of trembling stability from the scarred woman to which he did not know how to react. For a moment he thought Relmyna was denying him passage to the forest. It would make sense, in a way he was a deserter, but that was not the case. It took him a moment to connect the dots, but no words were needed for him to understand.

After a long, thoughtful look at Relmyna's sky eyes, Damien shifted his gaze towards the dark cub once more. She was his brother's legacy, all that was left of him.

I should have come sooner. says the man, whose voice was now tinged with pain and rage. His eyes travel back to Relmyna's own, but to her they are compassionate. The wolfess clearly shared a bond with Cicero that, although Damien didn't really understand, was definitely strong enough to hurt.

Maintaining his composure was now harder than ever, but one full breakdown was enough for the dark prince to know  it was best to do whatever it took to stay afloat. I — I need to talk to someone who can explain, he demanded, by now it was clear that her speech was limited, and though he felt the urge to ram through and demand an audience with whoever was in charge of the pack now, he respected the rules he would like to see enforced himself.