In the silvery waterfall of moonlight, Jonathan Aztec, my second in command, holding rank as Beta of the Northridge pack, was something to behold. His powerful shoulders seemed to carry the waning gibbous, and the shadows that devoured the vast grounds of Battleridge manor granted him a wide berth.
He was a superior specimen. He was a male worthy of the ranking he'd been bestowed. But like all creatures, he wasn't born perfect, and his character flaw was a fault that bled out into the night like a severed artery: Concern.
It charged the air between us, a thick blanket that settled against the lungs like a boa-constrictor's loving embrace.
"What did you find?" I asked. The perverse silence that had entombed the dilapidated courtyard, screaming so loud it rang through my ears like a twisted lullaby, was shattered upon his approach. His boots smacked against the waterlogged ground, echoing in a way that spoke of his failures before he'd even opened his mouth. 
"Nothing,"
.......
"Until I can figure out what's going on, nobody finds out about the boy. Understand?"
"Understood."
"You're not going to ..." The pause that followed dragged out. "He's just a baby, Sterling."
"You're dismissed."

The Littlest Light

Fuck him, I decided. This was how it was now. This was how I protected myself. This was how I protected him and it was how I protected my pack. I knew that regardless of what happened between me and him, he cared about Lou enough that if he needed it, he would still protect him. Everybody won.

/"Clarke came to see you yesterday,/" I told him. It brightened his face and a sleepy smile lit up his face. /"He wanted to check that you were okay. He said that when you're all better, he's going to bring you a giant bag of marshmallows./"

Which I knew I would most certainly not be allowing him to eat.

I waited for Lumen to answer, but soft snores came instead. He was asleep again. With a sigh, I reached for my book once more, flicking to the page that I had dog-eared, marking my page. The Art Of War.

Chapter42