I ignored him.
After a while, the knocking stopped. Through the door, I could hear the faint murmur of his voice, followed by Rosalie’s softer replies from the other room. Eventually, even those sounds faded.
The house had two bedchambers.
I took the master chamber.
Rosalie remained in the guest room.
And the Alpha of the pack, left between the two, spent the night on the sofa.
The next morning, he was already awake.
Or perhaps he had never slept at all.
He sat on the sofa in yesterday’s clothes, shoulders slightly hunched, dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hair was faintly disordered, and there was tension in the line of his jaw, as though he had spent the night stewing in irritation rather than resting.
The moment he saw me step out of my room, he straightened.
“You’re awake,” he said. “I reserved passage to Blightmoor. You once said you wanted to go there, didn’t you? I’ll accompany you. Ask for leave from the hall today.”
His tone was almost casual, as though nothing had happened the night before. As though bringing Rosalie into our home, arguing at the door, and leaving me to shut myself away had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
“I cannot go,” I replied.