The sky darkened so fast. Curtis thought, as he stared out from the window in his room to the world around his pack. It had been more than three hours after the conversation with his father, and two after being with his mother. He had never seen his mother so shattered emotionally, so wrecked. It had taken him all the control, all the tightening of the restraints to remember not to kill his father before the allotted time. He sighed a minute later, noting his folded fists. His body was still thrumming with the feeling, the feeling of punching his father at least one time. Yet, he couldn't do that, not until everything had been sorted out. His mother hadn't told him much, hadn't told him something new other than what he had found out whilst being at his cousin's pack. Except for the fact that she thought her mate was misguided, and needed some direction. He had bit his tongue from asking her why her presence or words hadn't been enough to keep his father in a firm line. He had bit

Curtis waited for thirty minutes after his father had left the pack before sauntering into his father’s study to begin the quest that was his mission to the pack in the first place. The office was still the same, still organized as it had always been. The servants were doing their job then. The servants.He remembered that he hadn’t seen any of them since his return. Had his mother sent them away so that his father wouldn’t have anyone to prepare food for him?Curtis chuckled. He knew that his father couldn’t cook to save his life. What had the old man been feeding on then? He should have teased him with that. Curtis thought. After his discussion with his mother earlier, she had prepared a delicious meal, for the both, even though Curtis was aware that she had purposely left some in the pot for her mate. He was also aware that his father had eaten the stuff up. He had been in the kitchen before the study. His parents. He didn’t know if he should hope for their reconciliation

As Sheila sat in one of the stools present in the kitchen, her mind drifted to thoughts of her absent daughter, Emma, who was far away in another country, in another continent. She hadn't met Emma yet, as she had been in a coma for all these years, but she couldn't help but worry about her. She couldn’t help the motherly twinge of anxiousness that filled her heart even for a child she hadn’t known. By morning, Emma would be undergoing her shift, and Sheila couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at her.Would Prescott do his job well?The ancients had sung the squirrel’s praises and all, but she couldn’t help the unease buckling up her heart. What kind of shift would Emma undergo?Her daughter wasn’t a normal werewolf after all. She was a combination of sorts, a combination they still hadn’t a clue about. So, would Prescott handle it?Sheila sighed.Somehow she knew that Emma was the oldest of her three children, and from what she had heard, the latter was quite stubborn. It m