Cael POV
Cael stared at the decanter on his desk, the amber liquid catching the afternoon light like melted gold. He didn't need another drink, but that hadn't stopped him from pouring one.
The glass was cool in his hand, his jaw tight as he replayed her voice in his head again and again.
"I needed air, I didn't realize I had to take permission."
She hadn't even looked at him properly. No, she'd looked through him. Like he wasn't the man she trusted anymore—if she ever had.
She said she needed air and ran to get it. But not to him.
Where had she gone to?
Or was it who has she gone to?.
That part? That part crawled under his skin like a splinter he couldn't dig out. She should've come to him. He'd moved heaven and earth for her.
Instead, she had found comfort somewhere else or with someone else. Whoever the hell the person was.
He downed the whiskey in one go, barely flinching. Alcohol didn't last in his body system anyways, the werewolf gene flushed it out too fast.
