The heavy oak corridors of the Bloodmoon Pack house still held the faint, lingering scent of ozone and agitated pheromones—the unmistakable sensory residue of an Alpha's fury.
It was already late noon when Livia walked quietly through the long hallway, her footsteps muffled by the thick, crimson runners stretching across the stone floor. She moved with a practiced, graceful balance, carefully carrying a heavy silver tray filled to the brim with Zyrus's favorite comfort foods.
There was freshly baked brioche bread, still radiating a gentle warmth that kissed the air with yeast and sugar. Beside it sat a porcelain bowl of thick savory wild mushroom soup, roasted venison meat glistening with a sweet honey glaze, and a small, meticulously sliced piece of the berry cream cake he loved so much.
