Logan's POV
I've never seen the Big House this crowded. Not even during the Melees.
It's packed wall-to-wall, every stair and hallway choked with bodies. The scent of too many wolves in one place—fear, sweat, desperation—saturates the air. Voices are raised in a dozen directions. Some are arguing. Others are sobbing. A few are just howling.
The last time I saw this much grief in one place was during my grandfather's funeral.
And maybe that's what this is.
A funeral.
For our wolves. For our future.
In this house just over a week ago, there was celebration; drinking, dancing, hunting. Communing. Today, in my fathers house, there is mourning.
"The goddess has forsaken us! Fuck! This can't be happening!"
"My kids, my cubs—what'll happen to them?!"
"Oh goddess… Oh goddess…"
"What about our heat cycles? Our mates? What about our bonds?!"
"This is a disaster! What'll happen to our wolves?"
"Disaster!? No! This is the end!"
"The suppressants will kill us!"
