25

I tremble in front of the huge roaring fire, in a state of surreal daydream of the grand fireplace in the room that Colton left me when he brought me into his pack house. My blanket draped around my shoulders as my only modesty covering, as he goes and fetches clothes.

I’m tucked into the armchair in the corner, out of the way, while some of his pack pace around in the clearing directly in front of the flames, inwardly thrashing something out. They’re wired, agitated, the air thick with the stench of testosterone, blood, and fury and more are returning by the minute to convene here in this house. Obviously, the pack returning from chasing off those vile murderous intruders.

It’s all in their actions, their mannerisms but as I’m not privy to Santo Pack linking, all I can do is watch the animated expressions and occasional outbursts of a word here and there.