Today was a hard day for Michael. It was the anniversary of his pack’s deaths.
It was his day off and getting up had been harder than usual. He had dragged himself out of bed after a night filled with terrible dreams and anxiety and an awful tightness wrapped around his chest and made breathing difficult. The house was deathly silent with only the eerie ticking of the clock from the living room to prove that he hadn’t gone deaf.
It occurred to him how lonely he was; how empty he felt. Werewolves weren’t supposed to be pack-less for so many years.
He gripped the kitchen counter and squeezed his eyes shut to steady himself. He hadn’t felt this depressed in a very long time and he wondered what was so different about this year’s anniversary compared to the years preceding it.
He opened hi
