Ravenna had her declared courtship called off three moon cycles ago and ever since she came back to our territory, Alaric had been meeting her over and over again. From the moment she returned, Alaric and I had barely shared any time alone.
Whenever Ravenna called, even if it was just a message through the communicator, Alaric would drop everything and rush to her.
He even held her affectionately right in front of me. His scent, cedar and cold iron and storm ozone, would come home carrying traces of her night jasmine, and my wolf would flinch every time.
It wasn't like I hadn't confronted him about it. But every time I did, he brushed me off with the same excuse, that Ravenna was going through a hard time and needed support.
According to him, everything he did was to help Ravenna back on her feet. She was carrying, he said, and he had a moral obligation to be there for her.
But Alaric seemed to forget one crucial fact: Ravenna wasn't the only pregnant she-wolf in his life. I was, too. And I was even further along than she was. If anything, I was the one who needed care the most.
For the longest time, I thought the pup Ravenna was carrying was Alaric's.