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Chapter Fourteen

Gabriel

Gabriel stood a far distance away from the Werewolves so they couldn't smell his scent as they lowered his mates' casket. Angelica was apparently dead, he thought suspiciously. His lip tilted up in one corner as he smirked, suspecting foul play. If she had really died, he would have felt it. Because, even though he left her, he never actually rejected her properly; so their souls are still bound. If she died, he would have felt the cut, a burning knife to his chest.

A whole pack, perhaps five maybe six hundred Werewolves, stood around the lowering casket, all wearing white, as is tradition - he could venture no further. Even though they would not dare kill a member of the Black family, his trespassing is enough to ignite a battle. Although Gabriel could care less about those pitiful excuses for Werewolves, he knew Angel cared for them and he didn't want to hurt her anymore.

He was scanning the people, his eyes roam

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