**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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After staying with him for so long, it felt strange not to be with Tatum. I was used to waking up to his scent, walking downstairs to see his green eyes and the everyday banter that broke out between us.
It didn't feel right for him not to be here with me. It didn't feel right to wake up to an empty house. After he left yesterday, I'd spent the day in the house, and it reminded me of why I was rarely home before. I liked the large, open space, but that didn't take away from the fact that it felt lonely as well.
Today, I planned to get out of the house, and the first thing I had to do was to go see Nolan. I hadn't spoken to him since our argument, and it was time to do so.
Nolan and I weren't the type of siblings who often fought—at least not in a serious way. If we argued, it was almost always playful, and I didn't want that to change. I could easily remember the few times that we'd actually gotten into serious arguments because there were so few. Some of them involved Isaiah; others involved Mom; they were always centered around something serious, but we always made up in the end.
The recent disagreement replayed in my head like a constant reminder. I knew my words had hurt Nolan, and while that may have been what I was aiming for in the spur of the moment, I felt guilty about it. That was how I ended up standing outside his house, ready to sit down and talk.
My hand moved to my pocket to grab the key, but I stopped myself. Instead, I raised my hand to knock on the door and waited. After the last time, I didn't want to run the risk of barging in and seeing something again.
A few minutes passed before the door opened, and I was met with Roan's face instead of my brother's. His usually blank expression was replaced with one that made me think he'd just woken up—it made him look less robotic.
"Is Nolan awake?" I asked.
The sound of someone shuffling in the background had Roan's gaze shifting. "He is now."
Nolan had always been an early riser, so the fact that he was only now just getting up—or rather, that I'd managed to get up before him—surprised me. Roan stepped to the side, and I walked into the house. Nolan sat in the kitchen; his dark hair was a mess, and, as Roan had stated, it was clear that he'd just woken up.
"What are you doing here, Nixon?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes.
"I wanted to talk to you," I told him.
Nolan stared at me, eyes examining my face before he released a sigh. "Let me get in the shower first and wake up a bit."
I nodded, and he stood up and disappeared down the hall. The room fell silent, and I would've thought I was alone had it not been for Roan's prominent scent. My eyes turned to him. He sat on the couch, not bothering to pay me any attention. The TV wasn't on, and he didn't say anything; he just...sat there.
It was times like this that made me question him. Nolan claimed that he was shy, and that's why I hadn't seen much personality from him, but it was almost like he was a robot or hollow on the inside. He only ever seemed to come to life when Nolan was in the room, and once he left, it was as if Roan had stopped functioning.
