Ramsey
My footsteps echoed through the halls of the pack house when I arrived.
My mind was still a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The scent of death still clung to my clothes – the aftermath of the Feral attack on my pack. So far, fifteen dead, including three children and more than a hundred injured.
The number of dead seemed small, but to me, it was a record of my failure. My father, when he was alive, and even my grandfather, who had served as a regent before I became old enough to take over, had never recorded the number of disasters and deaths I have had so far.
It was as if the universe was against me and was putting it out there as a reminder that it really doesn't care about me. The images of the dead people still haunted me, fueling the rage that simmered just beneath my skin.
But it wasn't the anger that drove me now. It was doubt.
