Alaric strode in, his powerful frame filling the doorway, brow furrowed with barely contained displeasure. Without uttering a single word, he pulled Lily behind his broad back, shielding her with his body.
"Lyra, can you not control that wild temper of yours for once?" His voice cut through the air like sharpened ice. "Lily works so hard to please this pack. Yes, she comes from a lesser bloodline—but why must you constantly target her?"
My chest heaved with fury, my wolf clawing beneath my skin. "Alaric, you need to understand what truly happened. She was the one who—"
Before I could finish speaking, Lily threw herself into his arms, her body trembling with theatrical sobs.
"Alaric, please forgive me! I was only trying to help Lyra organize her den-studio, and I accidentally destroyed her painting. She threatened to cast me out to the rogue territories! She called my mother a packless whore and said the pup inherited the dam's weakness!"
Her voice cracked and wavered, tears streaming down her pale cheeks—the perfect portrait of wounded innocence.
"I can endure being struck. I can bear harsh words. But why must she drag my mother's memory through the mud?"