Swiftcurrent Creek If ever I could love, I think it could be with you.

The hobble of her step only further incited his mind, his jaw clenching heavily as he already attempted to gather his thoughts and how he could exact revenge. She was not his any longer—a painful reminder to the swarthy Mayfair, and yet she was still the mother of his children, and he considered her still to be pack—each a reason he would bend over backwards for.

The simple fact it had been their son to do this set fire to his emotions fully, and the shadowrunner found himself unable to fully grasp the thought. Viinturuth, fiery as his mother, had never once seemed privy to violence of his loved ones. And now the whelp had deemed it a good idea to bring injury to his mother and risk her infection in the winter?

There was a rumbling in the back of his throat as he considered this, his tail giving a dangerous lash through the cold air. In his growing anger, the wolf did not recognize the features of remorse on his previous lover—any regret indicated upon her features surely stemmed from her interlude with their eldest child, given she had made it very clear before they were to be on a break, if not completely segregated.

“Come,” he ushered, withholding from burying himself in to the familiarity of her touch. “You need rest. Food, water.” He paused, his tongue sweeping past his lips. “I assume you’ll be returning to the pack?” He couldn’t speak of their son—not yet. Not when he wasn’t sure how to feel on the matter.