The white and auburn femme exited the meeting with Mori, her mind whirling. Rayne is mine. The words rang in her head. Why would he dare claim her? Her broken wing, dragging behind her, was a testament to this; she was a cripple, an invalid. She would never be whole again. Yet this Dracarae male, the strangest one perhaps in the whole pack, had chosen her. Had claimed her. A warmth in Rayne’s heart began to replace the confusion. Even if he didn’t want her for her heart or beauty or charm, she was still glad to be a woman with a purpose, or a duty. She loved being a zeta; the pups were so funny and small. But, it just felt like it wasn’t enough. She had surmised that she just couldn’t be . . . alone.
And she was very much alone. The children of the pack didn’t really need her much now. She barely spoke with her son Radke, and Arvin was now dead. Bastian and her stillborn children had left her long ago. Beartooth, really, had just given her children because she was a woman. He didn’t care for her, and he certainly wouldn’t protect her.
“So, Mori,” she spoke out. Assuming he was still following. “I don’t mean to pry, but what’s my appeal? It can’t possibly be this.” She nodded to her wing.

“I’M DONE RUNNING FROM YOU”