“The memorial is today,” Alpha Joey said quietly as I rinsed a glass in the sink. “Will you come with me? My mentor always wanted to meet you.”
The water kept running, but my hands stilled beneath it.
Laura’s father.
I didn’t care for her, but her father had been a respected wolf among the academic elite. A professor, yes, but also a scholar of pack law and history. I’d only met him once, briefly, but the impression stuck.
Wise. Serene. Dignified.
It always baffled me how someone so gentle could have a daughter like Laura—spoiled, possessive, and sharp-tongued like a she-wolf in heat every time she saw Joey.
But the dead deserved respect.
I dried my hands, pulled a black wool coat from the closet, grabbed my purse, and followed Alpha Joey out the door without another word.
The funeral hall was crowded—so many had come to pay tribute. Mr. Lawrence hadn’t just mentored Joey—he’d shaped dozens of wolves across neighboring packs.
As we entered, I spotted Laura and her mother standing together, shoulder to shoulder, receiving condolences with practiced grace. Grief clung to them both.
Then Laura’s eyes locked on Joey.
Her composure cracked.
She broke from her mother like a pup breaking from the den and rushed toward him. Her hands clutched at his sleeve as sobs tore from her throat.