Ragnor
The dining hall felt too bright this morning.
I sat at the head of the table, knife and fork gliding against the plate as I cut into the eggs Benedict.
The sausage was crisp, yet everything tasted like ash. Terror had been pacing restlessly inside me since the moment I woke up, his presence a constant nagging in my head.
We hurt our mate. Why did you do that?
I cracked my knuckles under the table, jaw tight. Enough of this. Nothing was going to change what happened last night, or three years ago.
She was late for breakfast. Why wouldn't she be, after what we did to her last night — after the way we had fucked Deidre right in front of her, after we'd painted her body while she begged us to stop.
Terror snarled louder. Our mate. We humiliated our Daisy.
I shoved him down harder, forcing another bite of food. She deserved it. She was the reason River was dead.
