017 | PLAN OF ATTACK

I was falling for Ares.

I knew it now, for he resided in every fibre of my being. I woke and I thought first of him, where once I would have thought of my pack and of my duty to them. I fell asleep with my legs tangled through his, heat radiating from his chest and the steady beat of his heart lulling me into dreams that were, almost always, about him.

I felt like a love-struck teenager: the sort that got giddy over penning their initials and his in a little heart down the sides of their parchment in lessons and linking their hands together beneath the table, imaging their fingers were his and squeezing. That was so far from the person I had been for the last twenty years of my life that I found it hard to look in the mirror each morning, because the flush to my cheeks and the glazed, dreamy look in my usually sharp green eyes did not belong to me. 

Even as we sat in a council meeting, in a dimly lit room deep inside the cavernous mountain, I could not tear