The sky darkened so fast. Curtis thought, as he stared out from the window in his room to the world around his pack. It had been more than three hours after the conversation with his father, and two after being with his mother. He had never seen his mother so shattered emotionally, so wrecked. It had taken him all the control, all the tightening of the restraints to remember not to kill his father before the allotted time. He sighed a minute later, noting his folded fists. His body was still thrumming with the feeling, the feeling of punching his father at least one time. Yet, he couldn't do that, not until everything had been sorted out. His mother hadn't told him much, hadn't told him something new other than what he had found out whilst being at his cousin's pack. Except for the fact that she thought her mate was misguided, and needed some direction. He had bit his tongue from asking her why her presence or words hadn't been enough to keep his father in a firm line. He had bit

Curtis waited for thirty minutes after his father had left the pack before sauntering into his father’s study to begin the quest that was his mission to the pack in the first place. The office was still the same, still organized as it had always been. The servants were doing their job then. The servants.He remembered that he hadn’t seen any of them since his return. Had his mother sent them away so that his father wouldn’t have anyone to prepare food for him?Curtis chuckled. He knew that his father couldn’t cook to save his life. What had the old man been feeding on then? He should have teased him with that. Curtis thought. After his discussion with his mother earlier, she had prepared a delicious meal, for the both, even though Curtis was aware that she had purposely left some in the pot for her mate. He was also aware that his father had eaten the stuff up. He had been in the kitchen before the study. His parents. He didn’t know if he should hope for their reconciliation

As Sheila sat in one of the stools present in the kitchen, her mind drifted to thoughts of her absent daughter, Emma, who was far away in another country, in another continent. She hadn't met Emma yet, as she had been in a coma for all these years, but she couldn't help but worry about her. She couldn’t help the motherly twinge of anxiousness that filled her heart even for a child she hadn’t known. By morning, Emma would be undergoing her shift, and Sheila couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at her.Would Prescott do his job well?The ancients had sung the squirrel’s praises and all, but she couldn’t help the unease buckling up her heart. What kind of shift would Emma undergo?Her daughter wasn’t a normal werewolf after all. She was a combination of sorts, a combination they still hadn’t a clue about. So, would Prescott handle it?Sheila sighed.Somehow she knew that Emma was the oldest of her three children, and from what she had heard, the latter was quite stubborn. It m

Leonarya cussed, threw away her working cowries and the other magic inclined stuff lying on the black table in anger, after trying for the umpteenth time to conjure up the spying demons. She knew that they were gone, that they had been buried somewhere she could never know, but she didn’t know what else to do if not trying the more, or trying to do something, instead of lazing about and thinking about the fallacy of her plans and magic. She hadn’t bargained for the vampires to be put to play in this story of hers. She hadn’t counted the betrayal of her daughter too. No. Not hers. But Sheila’s. Freya. Leonarya knew she hadn’t been the best of mothers to the girl, but she would like to believe that she had tried. Would she have tried in that trying way if she had her own children with her? Leonarya shook her head, and slumped into her black throne seat. She knew that she would do better. There was just this thing about the bond between you and your real child. But she would like

A sheen of tears fuzzed up Zipfarah’s eyes as she stared at her daughter sporting a winning smirk on her lips. Did she have to do this? Zipfarah thought, wondering how they had come to this point-where she would kill her successor. “I didn’t lie, Leonarya. You are my successor. You are the oldest.” Leonarya shook her head with a sad laugh. “If Tempest was still alive, would I have being your successor, mother?” Zipfarah didn’t bother answering, didn’t bother lying. Tempest would have been the successor, and they both knew it. Zipfarah wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Yes, she was still angry that Leonarya had killed Tempest, but she had never thought it worth her own head. How could she lose two of her daughters over a human male? She didn’t understand the complications of their relationship but her daughter, Leonarya, wasn’t one to deal well with rejection. Yet, Zipfarah found it stupid that all this feud had been because of the man. She had thought that she had taught them