Journal Entry From The Past Sora’s eyes sweep from left to right and down the middle, never stopping. It reminds me of the beginning of us. She was never settled, always sweeping security like a second instinct as effortless as breathing. The journals said the Lunas would revert to their former selves. They won’t feel safe or secure anymore. They will be hypervigilant. The Ruts in the pack will become a pack unto themselves, circling around their saviour. I look to the Ruts

“You understand I’m fully mated, so I can’t get hard for anyone else but my mate. I don’t want to get hard for anyone but Sora. How the fuck am I supposed to get someone else pregnant?” “When the Tenth Law is enacted in a pack, there are a lot of moving parts. Everyone has a place card. I’m the one who'll make it possible for you to go through the Rut with the Breeder.” “That’s impossible. How?” Not believing what this Healer's trying to spin, or that she'd even prop

How the fuck am I going to explain this to Sora?

Only Sora. Every time she calls him Plum, he thinks, I'm her favorite. She never uses nicknames for anyone but him. It’s how they register now.

One last time as a Shark.

“They are a great migration of fish that have come to spawn on the shore.” That is how Sunshyne described the approaching armies when I asked her how many there were. “Too many to be counted,” she said. They are drawing towards the battle line. Closer. Closer. Closer. “We have Finian,” Elska reminds them. Always, she reminds them who we have and who they do not. “Our Alpha stands in front of the pack, not being protected behind warriors.” She laughs, and Sunshyne sta

I have always been prepared for the deep dive. I never prepared for it to be on land.

“You brought a lot of stuff, Kimmie.” “Hazie, I see you brought yourself, per usual.” “I brought the drinks.” “Per usual.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I mean, if drinks are to be brought, you’d be the one to bring them.”

“Do you believe in mercy?” Bessa asks the mothers who still have their pups latched to their breasts. The Far North females nod their heads as if they know what is coming next. My throat tightens between grief and anger, but I nod with them. A group of us understands what it means to be the Far North. We understand mercy. “If we refuse?” A female from another pack with building rage asks.

“Starvation is suffering,” she said. “Spare the suffering.” His red-rimmed eyes find mine. It seems his floodwaters are still raging, deep enough that he is finding it difficult to swim. I will not let him drown.