Swiftcurrent Creek Maybe he love me- Maybe he doesn’t love anyone.

There was disruption at the borders—it was hard to miss, as the echo of voices seemed to echo across the rapid creek water, but the swarthy wolf could not make out the words spoken. He was about to intercept when the doling song of Shaara beckoned him.

He paused, his own muzzle tipping up to elicit a short howl back to her, affirming he would be to her soon.

As he neared, he wished he had gone to the borders instead. He had caught her scent before and her heat, but he had remained by Durnehviir’s side primarily, also while dealing with the black wolf that was keen on skirting away with the Creek’s women—or, at least his best friend. He didn’t know how to feel about it—he didn’t know how to feel about any of it, given he had likely just impregnated his ex-mate.

He steadied himself as her scent became heavier, and soon the grey frosted she-wolf was in front of him, looking absolutely livid. “Shaara,” he greeted, his tone a deep rumble as a frown knitted his brows. “What’s going on at the borders? What’s wrong?” And he dared move closer to her, his fiery eyes scouring over her, investigating her for any injuries or attack upon her.