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SEVENTY-TWO | HIS HOLLOW VICTORY
Atticus
Atticus had won, but it didn’t feel like a victory.Not when his hard-won prize looked at him like he was a monster. Not when Lily’s cheeks held onto the gauntness they had taken on during her time as Red Ripper’s captive. Not when her eyes, the eyes he had fantasized about for so long, were flat and so dark a brown he could only see his own reflection in them. There was no fire in her, not anymore.
Lily was broken, and in the month since Atticus had so bravely saved her from Red Ripper – and saved his own pack as well – he hadn’t been able to fix her. In fact, Atticus wasn’t even sure that she wanted to be fixed.
He huffed under his breath and reached for her. His fingers froze a half-inch from her shoulder. The duvet had slipped down, but her skin was far from bare. She was always cold, now. Anger burned hot in Atticus’s belly. She wore his t-shirt and his sweater
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