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Flowers on a grave

***POV - Zagon

I walk into a wall of pack guards. Okay, something is up. Harron and Stephan stand there, tense, ready to fight. They don’t even look at me; their focus on something else. Could it be the strange man? Or maybe that fucker woke up from his slumber and is trying to get to Eni again. A wave of antipathy cascades over my body. Fuck … since I’ve met my lovely mate I’ve been a walking emotionally strained bomb – and I hate it.

“What’s going on?” I wish the little shithead would find another place for his butt than my shoulder. It's getting rather irritating.

But he’s right … there’s a vibe of uneasiness in the air; strained; hostile; rigid.

My tension grows and my hand reaches for the hard handle strapped against my side. The guards open a path for me to walk through, and then I understand why everybody is so on edge.