Rhea staggered, a sharp sting ringing in her skull. Her hand flew to the spot, fingers pressing against the tender flesh. When she pulled them back, her fingertips glistened red. Blood.
Her jaw tightened as she stared at it, fury simmering under her skin. Great. Now she'd have to drag herself to those irritating healer quarters. Being wolfless meant the wound wouldn't fade as quickly as it would for the others. Her eyes cut back to the cook, who had already walked away, shoulders squared and smug as she stirred the pot — stirred it as if she hadn't just smashed Rhea's head with a fucking creasy ladle.
Rhea's lips twisted as she dabbed at the blood again. Why was it that this pathetic pack never seemed able to make a point without swinging fists or grabbing weapons? Always violence. Well, two could play that game. There was no way she was letting that smug short cook get away with cracking her skull open.
