Ignoring them both, I made my way to the common area where the shared records were kept. I was only there to copy patrol documents, and I pretended not to notice the sidelong glances the other wolves threw my way. They wanted a show. A spectacle. Some sign that I was cracking under the weight of Scarlett's growing influence within the pack.
But I refused to give them the satisfaction.
The whispers grew bolder as I passed two lower-ranked wolves near the corridor.
"The Shadowmere female is too cold," one of them muttered, loud enough for my wolf-sharp hearing to catch every syllable. "Males prefer females who are soft and yielding. Delicate, like Scarlett."
By cold they meant that I never gave them gossip. I never bared my throat in distress for their entertainment. I never put my pain with Caspian on display for the pack to feast on.
The moment they caught my scent shifting closer, both wolves fell silent. One instinctively tilted her head, exposing the barest sliver of her neck in submission. But the damage was done. I kept walking, my boots striking the polished stone floor in a steady, unhurried rhythm, until I reached my private quarters within the den.