By the time I reached my room, my pulse was still thundering from the council disaster. My wolf was pacing under my skin, claws dragging, restless and angry and confused. I wanted to punch something. Or scream. Or maybe punch something while screaming.
I shoved my door open hard enough to make the hinges complain.
The room was dim. Warm. Too warm. Soft shadows stretched across the walls. For one alarming second I thought someone had broken in, and I was ready to launch myself at them.
Then I saw the desk.
A tray sat on top of it. Not just a tray. A whole carefully arranged mini feast. A plate of pastries with sugar sparkling on top. A steaming mug of hot cocoa that sent soft curls of warm chocolate smell into the air. A folded napkin. A candle flickering beside it, casting a soft gold
