“We’re not mates,” he spits, finally breaking the silence. It sounds like an accusation. It cuts, but no worse than a splinter or a bee sting. “I know,” I say. His jaw tenses into a sharp line. His expression is now beyond forbidding—it’s menacing. “This is the second time you’ve been the cause of disruption in the pack.” How’s that? I don’t actually reply. Pack protocol is so ingrained. “I could have killed Gael.” He’s putting that on me? No way.
