What I knew was that I shifted into my wolf form to the old countryside farmhouse, the one on the edge of the forest. I almost collapsed once I reached the farmhouse.
I went to the garden. My mother’s garden. The one she fought to keep from being destroyed for a hidden pack vault.
The jasmine had bloomed early. I stood beneath it, in heels and ruin, a woman left with nothing. And I cried. Not polite tears. Not quiet ones. The kind that shook the soul. The kind that came from the deepest part of a broken girl.
Not just because I had loved Gareth, my fated mate, with a fire he used to burn me.
Not just because the pack adored Gwyneth and marked me as a villain.
But because I had let go of every piece of love I had ever given to this pack. Every hope I had ever held.
My screams echoed through the forest, unanswered.
Two days.
That was how long I stayed locked inside my den, packing my things in silence and preparing to leave the Silverfang Pack for good.
I ate almost nothing. I barely slept. My chest didn’t ache anymore. I was simply numb, as if my wolf had curled into a cold corner inside me and refused to move.
A knock came.