She only found him strange. Her small lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him with wide, cautious eyes. Even at her age, something instinctive in her pulled away from him, the way a pup recoils from a scent it doesn't recognize as pack.
He hadn't raised her. After a few more attempts with no response, his patience ran out.
"Narelle, you've come and you've been seen. When are you planning to go back?"
I stared at him, stunned. Then I laughed.
"You mean you want me to take our daughter back to that miserable den and keep waiting, day after day, for you to come get us?"
Finn's brow furrowed, a shadow of irritation crossing his face.
"I told you, when the time is right I'll bring you both home. The time isn't right yet."
"I know this territory compound looks grand, but there are a lot of wolves living here. There really isn't a spare den for you and Hilda. Once the outer quarters are renovated, I'll send for you..."
I cut him off, my voice flat and cold. "Give it up."
"My daughter and I have stripped nearly every root and herb off that hillside. Then the floods came, and even the rogues passing through can't find food. We were on the verge of starving to death. I wouldn't take her back to that place if you made me a servant in this pack."
It was laughable, really. The compound had dozens of dens and quarters, crawling with attendants and lower-ranked wolves.
And Finn claimed he couldn't spare a single room for his own mate and pup. Did he truly think I was that stupid?
In my last life, I never told him, not even on my deathbed, that my father was the Alpha of the Silvercrest Pack.
I had believed that standing by love meant something. That my devotion proved my worth.
In the end, I was nothing but a joke to them.
Five years rotting in that den, and none of it had mattered at all.
Finn's face went white. "What are you talking about? You were foraging scraps to eat? I had a hundred gold moons sent to you every moon cycle!"
I stared at him. "When did you ever send money?"
"In five years, all I received were your letters every few days. Not a single coin."
Finn whipped around, his eyes locking on Edith. The faint sour edge beneath his scent, that damp-bark and iron-rust smell, turned sharp with something new. My wolf stirred, quiet and watchful, reading the shift before his expression even changed.