“How do you feel?” Aspen asked. “Better without all the holes,” he said, patting his stomach and chest in disbelief. “You were dead.” “I kind of figured that out already.” “Like, really dead.” “Did Beckett do a celebratory jig?” Oscar surveyed the shadows. “He’s been after my position as alpha for years.” “Like, big Xs over your eyes dead,” she added. “What about Miller? He’s quiet about it, but I can feel him breathing down my neck for pack leader.” “Like, deader than lobster in butter sauce.” Oscar turned to face her. “Feels like you’re rubbing this in just a little.” Aspen shrugged. “I’ve
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