REED — POV
I didn't go to the ceremony.
Couldn't stomach it.
Every year, after the Hunt, the wolves gathered to present their trophies—evidence of the kills they made in the human sector. The winner would be praised, given a medal, sometimes even a seat closer to the King at the next council. A barbaric tradition, masked as a celebration of strength.
Some brought hands. Others, fingers. A few sick bastards even kept heads.
And to keep it "fair," they were forced to choose one side—if you started collecting left hands, then every hand better be left, or it was considered cheating. Not that it changed how disgusting it all was.
No, I didn't go.
Not because I couldn't, but because I wouldn't. My head wasn't there.
My mate—my gods-damned mate—was in the hands of a vampire. That fact alone had poisoned my blood with a rage I couldn't shake. I could feel the bond tugging at me, straining across the forest, whispering that she was alive… and afraid.
And I had let her go.
