The pack house didn't fully sleep that night. Neither did I.
I lay on top of the covers, listening to the building settle around me—low voices in the corridor, the front door opening and closing more than once, and footsteps on the gravel outside my window that stopped and started without any pattern I could follow.
The pack was processing Reid's return in real time, and there was something almost familiar about it. The specific restlessness of a group handed them information they hadn't finished making sense of yet.
I knew what I was doing. I was listening to other people's problems because it was easier than sitting with mine.
The fire on my land. Those weird gold and blue lights were still flickering in the cracks out there. From what I'd picked up, they had the whole parcel guarded tight now. The fire burning inside it—gold and blue—was completely wrong in every way I understood fire to behave.
"Dammit," I sighed.
