Damon didn’t speak much for the rest of the day.
Lily knew he was battling with himself. He held a disdain for her that she didn’t deserve, but she understood it. If someone she had loved died due to the hands of a werewolf, she would probably hate all of them a little, too.
It was strange to see the den so quiet. She walked the halls, hearing the gentle sniffle of female wolves as the comforted one another in their rooms. The men were as any other male species; they hid away their feelings. All of them but Marco—the stern, older wolf who had never seemed to like Lily much from the moment he met her. Whenever she met stumbled into him, his eyes followed her like he was tracking his pray.
She chose to simply not say a word.