KIERA'S POV
It was a gloomy, wet, insufferable morning over the werewolf territory of Dark Creek. Best weather for a funeral, actually. Surely burial days couldn't be sunny and rosy. There had to be a touch of depression and sprinkle of rain to dampen things a notch.
Anyway, today was the burial of a beloved father, a cherished son, a generous uncle, a despicable bastard who deserved a special place to burn in hell. The world would fare better without him tainting it with his existence.
Kiera would have preferably curled up against her pillow in bed, maybe look for a warm body to keep her company, than grace such an occasion with her presence and the customary dribbles of sorrowful tears, but Tyler had glared at her when she so subtly suggested her absence from the funeral.
"And don't be late." Tyler had warned.
"Do I have to wear a black dress?" She asked just to irk him.
She'd not expected him to reply with, "Dress appropriately."
