The Broken Alpha
He was not weak and, to Atticus, crying was a weakness.
Leaning his forehead against the cool windowpane, he closed his eyes. The moonlight bathed his skin, painting the hard planes of his nose and cheeks silver. He shuddered. Breaking the bond had made him erratic and emotional. He had to pull himself together – now.
Lily had been gone for weeks. But neither time nor distance made his pain lessen, and he was – in the dark of night, alone and ashamed – beginning to wonder if, perhaps, he had made a mistake.