Make A Decision.

"Go on now! Tell him." Otsanna urged in a low, Stern voice. The air in the courtyard crackled with unspoken tension.

Channe's gaze flickered from Otsanna to the Alpha, Zephyr.

His stare was direct, unwavering, and sent a quiver through her. With a whimper, she sank to her knees, tears welling in her eyes.

"Please forgive me, Alpha Zephyr," she begged, her palms pressed together in supplication. "I was only being curious; there was no ill intention. Have mercy on me." The tears spilled over, tracing paths down her cheeks.

Zephyr's glare intensified, a silent command that spurred her to speak.

"On the day she was bloodied… when I was called in to clean her," Channe began, her voice trembling, "I had a day-old metal injury on my hand."

She glanced around the courtyard, a fleeting reminder of the toxic nature of metal to werewolves, how it stubbornly resisted healing.