Scott stood frozen in the corner of the hall, his mind struggling to catch up with what he'd just heard. His father wasn't his father. The man who'd raised him, taught him to fight, stood behind him at every pack gathering since he was a boy, wasn't his blood at all.
"How is any of this possible?" he asked, his voice rising. "You're saying my father is not my father? That Alpha Rolf—"
He turned slowly, his eyes searching the crowd until they landed on his mother, seated among Rolf's people, her head bowed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She would not meet his eyes.
Scott stepped closer. "Mum." His voice broke on the single word, and he took a step towards her, ignoring the whispers rippling through the hall around him. "Look at me. Is this true?"
She stared down at her hands, her shoulders curling inward as if she could make herself smaller, or disappear from the weight of his stare.
