**BOOK THREE**
Still grieving the loss of his mate, twenty-four-year-old Tatum Knowles isolated himself from the rest of his pack. With the strength of both his pack and himself being questioned by those around them, the last thing Tatum planned to...
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The cold air ran over my fur.
If I were human, I'd probably be freezing right about now, but being a werewolf did have its advantages, and one was a higher tolerance to the cold.
The grass brushed against my fur as I raced through the woods. I had midnight patrol duty tonight. Most people complained about the job, but over the last few months, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't become a fan of it. Throughout the day, I was Alpha Tatum: the wolf who had to be strong and keep up appearances, but at night? There was nobody around. It was only me — just as it had been for the last few months.
Though I technically didn't need to be out on patrol duty, the job offered an escape from all the fucked up things around me. I didn't have to focus on losing my mate, my head warrior, and my beta. I didn't have to focus on the fact that my pack was falling apart at the seams.
I didn't have to focus on the fact that I was utterly failing as an alpha.
"We just switched out with the other team. Everything at the southern border is clear!" The leader of the midnight patrol team linked me.
"Keep me updated if anything happens," I responded.
I forced my thoughts down and focused on my surroundings as I raced to the western border. With rogue attacks growing more frequent in the area, we had to up our security to watch for them. Luckily it seemed to be mainly regular rogues that were coming and not ferals, but I knew better than to underestimate them.
There were two types of rogues—the ones who kept their humanity and those who completely lost it. The ladder was supposed to be a lot less common to come across, but the numbers had shot up in the past year alone, which meant that packs had to be more careful. With the state that the Howling Night was in right now, the last thing we needed was rogue attacks of any sort.
Nobody directly said anything. They never came straight up to me and complained, but I wasn't deaf to the whispers or blind to the worried expressions. Many believed the Howling Night was falling apart. We didn't have a head warrior, we didn't have a beta, and now our alpha was a broken fucking mess. I didn't blame those who were worried and wasn't angry with those who complained. If anything, I was mad at myself.
I was angry that I let myself fall so low, mad that I let my pack fall so low. I was meant to be their alpha, for goddess' sake. I was told to stand tall and show them that this would all be okay, but I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I was there in that hospital room, watching as my mate died, or I was back at the day when we found him, wishing I could've done more.
It killed me.
There was so much that I wished I could change. So much that I wanted to, I'd known before everything had gone to hell, but I knew that regret would ultimately change nothing. There were no redos; I was stuck with the mess that had been created, and now I had to fix it.
