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

She seemed overwrought with fatigue. The way her usually graceful form moved, as if she was sore—not just from he rinjuries, but her heart was fractured. The beast watched her with careful eyes, a low rumble breaking past his muzzle as he once more thought of their youthful son attacking the woman who had given birth to him—should Viinturuth dare return, he was certainly going to hear an earful about the risk he had put her in.

He would have liked her to seek out the wisdom of a healer, but as far as he knew, they lacked such talent in their ranks. Another thing to remedy, he mused quietly.

His gaze drifted from her delicate features to note the limp—the cradle of her limb close to herself. As she began to follow him, the shadowrunner slowed his stalking pace, giving her the time and comfort to catch up. One ear splayed back to her direction at her words, and he didn’t know how to take it—what she meant. Their fight had extended itself for months—for as fiery as she had been with her passion toward him in their days of courting, she had turned completely on him with the same ferocity—his muzzle had certainly bore her teeth from her rage.

Nothing had placated her before, though he was not exactly innocent in the matter. He had offered her too much space. Too much time.

So he chose the most logical direction of what he assumed she meant: “Don’t apologize, Durnehviir. It was my fault. I should have paid more attention to him…if there were any signs he would just run away. You did everything you should have. It was me who failed him.”

He paused, his muzzle swinging back to study her, unable to fully focus on the pain in those beautiful champagne eyes of hers. “Where is he? Far from here? Do you know the name of the pack?”