Oh, God, this crazy Alpha has the appetite of a monster and. What does he mean he wants another food? And a different one at that? The pantry felt like the only safe place left in the entire pack house, and even that was a lie. The moment I closed my hand around the slab of beef, I felt him there not physically, but in the weight pressing against my skull, that soundless murmur brushing along my thoughts like claws tracing glass.
Inner voice: Look at her, clutching it like a baby. She really thinks food will keep me still. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm just the kind of wolf who needs to be fed before I bite.
