DamianI watched her carefully, every movement, every blink, and every breath. I had seen guilty wolves before and I knew what panic looked like, what desperation looked like. This didn’t look like either of those things.This looked like hurt.“I’m not accusing you,” I said, though technically I was. “I’m asking you to explain what this is,” I said and pushed the picture slightly toward her.She looked at it again, her lips parting before she let out a small, disbelieving laugh as if it was too ridiculous to process. “Is this what your mate thinks is evidence? This is her proof?” She asked quietly as she picked up the photo.“Yes, I poured something into the tea,” she admitted and my wolf stilled.“But it’s not what you think,” she continued quickly, her voice rising. “It’s a herb, a herb that helps you sleep. Donald had been restless that night and the ceremony was already overwhelming. I brought it along because it helps people sleep peacefully.”“I drank the tea too, Damian, and
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