CAINE
Fenris's response makes me realize what I'm thinking and I groan, driving my fist into the nearest wall again. It's a new habit, developed about ten minutes ago. The plaster crumbles under my knuckles, leaving a crater the size of my hand. "Fuck. You're in my head again."
I most certainly am not, Fenris replies, his voice dripping with disdain. I would never put such idiotic thoughts in your head. My goal has always been to keep the girl with us, in our pack—not set her up in some pathetic human apartment like a kept woman.
The truth in his words stings worse than my knuckles. These thoughts—this obsession with providing for her, protecting her from afar—they're mine alone, turning me into a hypocrite. I killed Brax for breaking our laws, didn't I?
