The forest was quiet around them, still. No breeze rustled the leaves. No birds sang. The triumph they should have felt didn't come. Nora felt relief, and a sense of completion. But there was no delight in the victory. She could only imagine what Dante felt. He had shifted back to his human form, staring down at Roman's lifeless body. But hadn't moved.
"Dante?" she called to him, her voice low and measured as though speaking to a wounded animal. In some ways he was, she mused. His heart was wounded. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his arm. "What do wolves do? To honor their dead?"
"He gets no honor," Dante's voice was thick. "He deserves nothing. He was nothing but a murderous bully and coward. The pack is better off without him. My family is better off without him."
"I'm sorry," Nora whispered. Dante knew that monster didn't warrant any of his sympathy. So, why did it hurt so much? "I'm sorry about your father."