"Careful," Nancy said firmly as Asher was guided into his quarters —formly Henry's— his arms thrown around Roman's shoulder while Jeremiah cleared the way.
Though Asher's jaw was set, his breathing was shallow, and he was weak as hell. As the new Alpha of the West pack, it had been pride alone that kept him standing before his people. The West valued strength above all else, and even after a brutal battle, he could not afford to show weakness.
Only when they crossed the threshold of his home — where no outsider could witness his fall — did he finally allow himself to let go.
"On the bed," Nancy instructed.
Roman adjusted his grip, lowering him slowly. As soon as Asher's body hit the mattress, a deep groan tore from his throat. He could only lie on his side; his shoulder was ruined, half his flesh bitten clean through where Dominic's fangs had sunk deep.
