I crossed the distance and drew her behind me, positioning myself between her and Rogan. His expression shifted to wariness, his wolf-gold eyes narrowing.
"Apologize to my packmate."
Rogan stared at me as though I'd gone feral.
"Rogan." I'd expected this moment to shatter me—to feel my heart being crushed until I couldn't draw breath. But watching someone else burn with protective rage on my behalf, watching someone fight for me... it cleared my head instead. "Apologize to my packmate."
"You've lost your mind!"
The words barely escaped his throat.
I swung my leather satchel and cracked it across his skull. Then I seized the Omega by her hair and slammed her face into the corner of the table.
"Rogan Ashfen."
My voice was winter ice.
"I will not let this go."
Then I turned, took Aria's arm, and walked out of the waystation den.
She'd only been part of the administrative den for six moon-cycles. I'd trained her myself, guided her from her first day among us.
Now she sat beside me in my traveling carriage, her face creased with worry. But I simply stared at the scent-tagged missives arriving on my communication stone, perfectly calm, as Rogan's messages flooded in: